


The Last King

by Ember3ye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged up characters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anti-Magicker Factions, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Iwaizumi puts the slow in slow burn, Iwaizumi's a warrior... kind of, M/M, Magic-Users, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Oikawa's a healer of sorts, Slow Burn, Unique Abilities, everyone is bisexual it's my fantasy story and i can erase homophobia if i want to, maybe I won't kill them off but I can make them suffer, slow slow burn, the release of death will be a wish i will not grant them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 272,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23297284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember3ye/pseuds/Ember3ye
Summary: Oikawa Tooru really didn’t know how he ended up with a baby.Well, that wasn’t quite right.He knew exactly how all this had happened, he was just having a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea - the grand, grand idea of utmost responsibility - with the kid crying so goddamn loudly.It's the aftermath of a rebellion, and Oikawa is stuck in a snowstorm with the sole surviving heir and a warrior who may or may not be part of a cult.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 1136
Kudos: 2945
Collections: IwaOi Fics





	1. Oikawa Wishes To Murder A Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [murtfy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murtfy/gifts).



> Hello!  
> This is a story I've been working on for almost two years, and so have the bulk of it written already. I'll be aiming to update every ten days, and hopefully by the end of the cycle have it finished. 
> 
> Dedicated to my wonderful friend, whose unwavering support and advice is always invaluable, and never fails to put my insecure ass at ease.
> 
> EDIT: THIS FIC HAS BEEN GIFTED ART!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!  
> [Cathgotyourtongue's art](https://cathgotyourtongue.tumblr.com/post/619075232100220928/but-out-of-the-corner-of-his-eye-iwaizumi-was) (tiny spoiler of an angsty scene)  
> [ ShaeraHaek's art](https://twitter.com/ShaeraArt/status/1275093484676972544?s=20)  
> (of Oikawa and his gorgeous ponytail)  
> [ My best friend's art](https://twitter.com/spikyiwaizumi/status/1299048962691866624)  
> Go support these wonderful artists!!

Oikawa Tooru really didn’t know how he ended up with a baby. 

Well, that wasn’t quite right. 

He knew exactly how all this had happened, he was just having a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea - the grand, grand idea of utmost responsibility - with the kid crying so _fucking_ loudly .

“Can’t you shut that thing up? Or do something with it?” He tilted his head. “I think that blanket it’s in would be perfect to smother it with.”

The other man glanced up from the emerging fire he was tending, shooting an irritated look over to the other side of the cave where they’d made shelter. The baby, crooked safely in a nook in the rock, didn’t seem to pick up on Oikawa’s temptation to hold his hand over his face until it stopped breathing, and kept on wailing. Oikawa’s temples began pounding, and he lifted a hand to massage his forehead, wishing he could step outside for a breath of fresh air without freezing to death. Actually, maybe freezing to death would be worth it. At least then, he wouldn’t have to listen to that shrill, warbling, not to mention horribly off-key, screeching. If the damn thing was going to scream, then couldn't it at least scream in tune? 

“We’re supposed to protect him from danger,” the other replied finally, tossing another damp stick into the flames. 

“We won’t have to if it’s dead,” Oikawa suggested helpfully, fingers gripping the coarse fabric around his shoulders tighter. “And then I’ll be able to have its blanket. Win-win situation, really.”

His dark-skinned companion shook his head, fingers ghosting nervously over the hilt of his sword. 

“Don’t you realise we’re in a serious situation here? The king is dead, and we have to guard the heir. No matter how noisy he may be.”

“But it’s so troublesome,” Oikawa complained, high-pitched and grating, even on his own ears. “Can’t somebody else do it?”

This time when the man - Iwaizumi, Oikawa recalled dimly from the few times they’d been called to the king together - looked at him, it was a full-blown glare, annoyance mixed with disbelief. His eyebrows were scrunched together so heavily that a crease darkened in the middle, giving him the appearance of an enraged hedgehog. 

“Are you serious? Did you miss the part where everyone else got murdered?”

“I’m sure everybody didn’t get murdered,” Oikawa whined out. “We survived, didn’t we? Others must’ve, too. Maybe others that could actually take care of a little….creature,” he finished, wrinkling up his nose distastefully. 

Iwaizumi stared at him disbelievingly for a moment or two more before shaking his head again, somehow more exasperated this time. “You ran away the moment the first arrow was shot. I doubt anyone else was as cowardly as you.”

Oikawa huffed out a breath through his nose, rolling his eyes heavily. 

“I think you mean sensible. And you survived too, didn’t you?”

“I fought through dozens of men with a baby in one arm. I don’t know how I survived.”

“By the gods, stop bragging already.” Oikawa stuck out his tongue as Iwaizumi straightened up and took the baby into his arms gently. 

“I wasn’t bragging. You asked, didn’t you?” Iwaizumi replied, the drone of the baby’s cries settling down as he rocked the child back and forth, careful and deliberate. 

Oikawa eyed the scene warily, his lips curling back. “Whatever. As soon as this snowstorm finishes I’m out of here. I have total faith that you can take care of that thing yourself.”

“And for that I’ll eternally be grateful,” Iwaizumi muttered. They'd been here ten minutes and already he wanted to shove him out into the snowstorm. 

“I wasn’t the king’s favourite for nothing, you know! Apart from having the best nails in the castle, I’m also one of the best healers. Countless others have trained under me-”

“Nobody asked. And you’re so selfish I honestly can’t believe how much the king liked you,” Iwaizumi told him flatly. 

“Liked me? He loved me,” Oikawa announced proudly, spreading his hands. “I’m prettier than his queen, and more graceful, and, simply put, more superior in general. I could’ve manipulated the king so easily, but because I’m a good person, I chose not to.”

“Alright then, ‘good person’,” Iwaizumi declared, walking over to him and holding out the now-quietened baby to him. “Take care of his child.”

“What? No.” Oikawa scrunched up his nose, squinting at the child. “I don’t get on well with children. They tend to try and strangle me.”

“Trust me, he won’t strangle you,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, thrusting the bundle into the hollow of Oikawa’s arms, swaddled in the rough wool of the blanket. “I just need a few minutes.”

“To do what?” Oikawa asked dryly, balancing the baby distastefully on his forearms, who stirred slightly, alarming Oikawa. “What are you going to do? Pace the cave and contemplate our inevitable deaths? Decide to go outside and end it all, leaving me with the baby? No thanks.”

“I’m not going to leave the heir with you. That’d be madness,” Iwaizumi answered, scooping up his bag and dumping it down by the fireside. 

He followed it, stooping over, cross-legged as he swiftly began unstrapping his armour, first the buckles that held his shoulder pads on, dropping it into the dirt carefully. Then the gauntlets followed promptly, his gloves falling on top of them as he moved to his slashed body armour. 

“Oh, great,” Oikawa commented. “Now you’re stripping in front of me.”

“Trust me, it isn’t because I want to,” Iwaizumi mumbled back, undoing the main plate around his torso with a stifled hiss as it brushed against his chest. "Unlike cowards who ran away the second a sword was drawn, I did have to fight my way out." Iwaizumi gave Oikawa a filthy, piercing side-eye, to which Oikawa smiled back sweetly. 

"I guess that's why you're the one in pieces and I'm totally uninjured." 

The baby opened its damn mouth again, stretched it wide with its little chubby fingers grasping at air, and Oikawa tensed up. The last thing he wanted was another fit of bawling. 

"Relax," came the unwanted advice from the man seated on the ground. "Rock him a little. Be gentle about it." 

"Don't tell me-" 

The baby let out a garbled noise, effectively cutting off Oikawa's whiny retort. Iwaizumi gave him a pointed look as he unfastened his sword belt, and Oikawa sighed deeply. "Fine, fine, I'll try it. Don't blame me if it spews vomit everywhere." 

"He. He's a he." 

Oikawa glowered at him hotly, sticking out his tongue. "It's an it. I'm rocking it, aren't I? Isn't that enough?" 

He glanced down at the wrinkly little shithead in his swaying arms, and wondered how the hell something so small could be so loud and annoying. However, the subtle swinging back and forth seemed to be working, and Oikawa allowed his tensed shoulders to drop in relief, watching the tiny crease ease out of the thing's nose. So this was the creature he'd agreed to protect with his life when he'd first sworn his loyalty to the king. Shit, if he had known the responsibility would actually fall to him, he probably wouldn't have dedicated himself to being the king's closest advisor. Well, not quite. There was another able advisor of his, another who appeared a lot more willing to take care of a stupid kid. 

Oikawa looked up again, his gaze settling on the bare, tanned back of Iwaizumi Hajime, a warrior who Oikawa had been previously acquainted with, but not much more. He knew of him only through his reputation and being in the same room when the king held conusel. 

Iwaizumi grunted, shifting around so his side faced Oikawa as he reached for his bag, rifling through the contents with a scrunched brow and protruding lips. His torso was laced with dozens of shallow cuts, all leaking crimson steadily, evidence of his recent battle. His free hand was clamped tightly over his upper arm too, blood ebbing through clenched fingers. Dropping his gaze, Oikawa focused on his toned chest, where something worrying resided. A consuming chasm of a gash slashed across his chest, blood flowing from it much more quickly than the others, covering his stomach in trails of smeared red. Oikawa raised an eyebrow. 

"That looks nasty," he commented, and Iwaizumi simply grunted back in agreement, continuing his search for whatever the hell he was looking for. With a sigh, Oikawa got to his feet, cradling the baby to his chest. He'd rather not do anything, but if this man died, the full responsibility of caring for the baby would plummet onto his shoulders, and Oikawa was desperately unprepared. As unwilling as he was to admit it, he wasn't cold enough to dump the baby somewhere and let it die, and however narrowly, his sense of loyalty overpowered the desire to just leave the despicable thing in a basket outside a childless couple's home. 

"Stop searching for whatever useless thing you think you need," Oikawa commanded as he swept over to him, standing beside him. 

Iwaizumi squinted suspiciously up at him, unmoving. "Why?"

"I've decided to graciously help you," Oikawa declared, and if he could've, he would've spread open his arms like the saint he was. "You can thank me-"

"No." Iwaizumi resumed palming through his things, refusing to look at Oikawa, whose mouth was currently ajar. That asshole! Here he was, about to magically fix all his pains and aches and massive fucking open wounds, and he...rejected his offer? Oikawa hmphed loudly, grinding a heel into the cavern floor in indignation. "Mind telling me why, o 'holier than thou' asshole?" 

"Easy. I don't want to owe a pretentious ass with a superiority complex a favour," Iwaizumi stated simply, producing a small pot of unknown substance from his bag. He eyed Oikawa with something bordering on disgust, from his lavish footwear to his thickly dyed cloak, to the haughty way he held himself. "In addition, I don't want your hands on me." 

Oikawa ground his teeth together, wanting to yell but knowing the noise would undoubtedly wake the tiny, demanding monstrosity in his arms. 

"Let me tell you, Iwaizumi-" he spat out the name with as much venom as he could muster, which was a lot, Oikawa was a salty bitch, "-I know people who would kill - literally murder someone - to be blessed with a touch from my divine hands. Here I am, trying to be helpful, and you turn me down? You need your head checked for brain-rot. Offence definitely intended," Oikawa finished with a short huff. 

Iwaizumi didn't even glance up, smearing some lotion on his injuries. "If you're done, I suggest you return to your side of the cave," he said calmly, so evenly it irked Oikawa even more. 

Puffing himself up, Oikawa sniffed, glaring down at Iwaizumi with his deadliest, withering glower. Iwaizumi wasn't even looking, instead beginning to thread a string of fabric through a needle of bone, presumably to stitch up his main wound. Oikawa inhaled deeply. This man was an utter idiot. How, exactly, was he the one who survived? Anyone else would be on their knees in front of Oikawa, he was beyond certain. Obeying his every word and whim, laughing uproariously at his dry wisecracks, and - most important of all - appreciating his good intentions! 

"Why are you still here." Iwaizumi's voice was flat, and Oikawa had to physically bite down on his tongue to stop himself throwing back a scathing remark. He needed him to not die, remember? The king's murder was already beyond inconvenient, he didn't need any other setbacks. He had to make the most of the situation, as much as he disliked it. Clucking his tongue, Oikawa crouched down beside him, ripping the needle out of his fingers and tossing it over his shoulder. "You won't need that." 

Before Iwaizumi could scramble away, Oikawa placed the kid into his lap and latched onto his solidly built shoulders, staring him down. Misty green eyes smouldered back just as sharply. 

"No." Iwaizumi said. 

"Yes," Oikawa insisted, nails digging into his shoulders. "It's pitiful, watching you try and heal yourself with those primitive instruments."

“Let go,” Iwaizumi gritted out, but his forearm was crossing over his chest, shallow breathing betraying his lack of strength. Oikawa ignored him. 

Iwaizumi attempted to squirm away, but Oikawa knelt down between his legs, his hands slipping down to Iwaizumi's upper arms, clinging onto the blood-slicked muscles tightly. Then he began bending forwards, holding the injured man in place, who hissed out between his gritted teeth, jerking his head away. This didn't deter Oikawa in the slightest - he'd had more than a few patients unwilling to undergo treatment - and his slender fingers shot up, grasping Iwaizumi's chin with a force that wasn't to be defied. Iwaizumi's icy gaze bore into him, intense and furious, and his lips parted to speak, but Oikawa got there first. 

"Decio un el jokli," he whispered out, and his breath obeyed him, mingling through Iwaizumi's and swooping down his throat, diving into his bloodstream, nerves, muscles, organs, infiltrating every pore of his body. Iwaizumi's eyes widened as his cells were shocked into overdrive, knitting up the many cuts and scratches in a blink of an eye. His body jolted under Oikawa's palms as the gap across his chest slowly started closing over, sudden pain crossing over his features. However, despite the shuddering agony Oikawa knew he must be feeling, his mouth remained stubbornly clenched shut, seemingly determined not to cry out. Sweat beaded his brow, and Oikawa could see his foggy emerald eyes silently cursing him. Then the edges of the healing skin on his chest touched together. Oikawa could visibly see the pain ease away, his shoulders relaxing, but Oikawa's own lungs were burning, heaving uselessly for the missing breath. 

In the next instant, his breath had emerged from Iwaizumi's mouth and dove back down into his own throat, bringing thankful, cool, release. With a jerked, abrupt gasp, Oikawa let entirely go of the warrior, toppling backwards onto his butt as he gulped in sweet, sweet air, closing his eyes in thanks. He never knew exactly how long it would take to heal somebody - not all wounds could be seen, internal bleeding was basically Oikawa's worst enemy - and he always hated the suffocation which accompanied it. 

"What...is that how it works?" Iwaizumi asked, seemingly in disbelief as he examined himself, his totally unscathed skin. He picked up the baby and held it close, gaze flickering over Oikawa, no longer with disgust, but curiosity. 

"What, you didn't know before now? How uneducated you must be," Oikawa taunted, having - literally - gotten his breath back. "It only makes sense, doesn't it? For a Breather to save someone, they have to risk their own lives. Wouldn't be just otherwise, now would it? You can thank me now, by the way. I know I'm amazingly wonderful, but I do love to be praised every now and again." 

Iwaizumi’s expression darkened again almost instantly, scowling deeply. "How can you do something so nice, and still be such a total jackass?" 

Oikawa winked at him charmingly. "All part of my appeal, Iwa-chan." 

"Iwa-chan?! Where the fuck did that come out of?" 

"Now, now," Oikawa chided, climbing to his feet and brushing the cavern dust off his clothing. "Don't be so cold. We just shared an intimate moment. You can call me Oikawa-chan. Perhaps Oikawa-sama would be more suiting, though, to illustrate your unending debt to me for saving your life." 

"No. And I'm not being called Iwa-chan either."

“Iwa-kun?”

“No.”

“Zumi-chan?”

“No.”

"How about-"

"No."

“Iwa-chan it is,” Oikawa declared stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. He had been joking at first, but if it served to piss this man off, Oikawa was all for it. 

Iwaizumi scowled quite viciously at him, perhaps finally picking up on the fact that Oikawa wasn’t a person who paid any attention to the word no, then picked up his shirt again, slipping it on over his head as he balanced the child in his crossed legs. Oikawa got the message. Interaction over. 

That didn’t mean he had to take any notice of it.

“Ew.”

Iwaizumi shot him the stink-eye, which OIkawa had to admit, was impressively intimidating. “What.”

“Your shirt’s covered in blood,” Oikawa needlessly pointed out. “It’s disgusting.”

“Well, I don’t really have any other option, do I?” Iwaizumi snapped back, gesturing around them. “We’re stuck here, and for _some_ reason, I didn’t think to grab a spare set of clothes on the way out.”

“No need to be so harsh and sarcastic,” Oikawa replied, shrugging gracefully. “I was only trying to help you, yet you’re so hostile to me. Seems unfair, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t care,” Iwaizumi told him shortly, fishing out a cloak from his bag and slinging it around himself with a grateful shudder. He didn’t bother putting back on his damaged, blood-splattered armour, instead standing up, adjusting the blanket around the small person deftly before handing the bundle to Oikawa. “Hold him.”

“Hold on,” Oikawa protested, watching as Iwaizumi strode over to the entrance to the cave, where blindingly cold winds were swirling just beyond the threshold. “Where are you going? I didn’t heal you just for you to die of pneumonia - I didn't think even you would be that inconsiderate,” Oikawa huffed out, trailing him as much as he dared to. 

Iwaizumi bent down at the edge, where snow was beginning to stretch into the cavern floor, and scooped up a piece. As he walked back, he totally ignored Oikawa, simply plopping back down by his place at the fire and pulling out a cloth from his bag - a bag, Oikawa was starting to suspect, held everything. Oh, Oikawa realised as he dumped the snow in the hollow of his breastplate, where it slowly sank into water from the heat of the fire. He’s just cleaning all the dirt and blood off of his armour. 

“If you’ve figured it out, stop staring like an idiot.”

Oikawa’s lips curled back at the stark retort, wrinkling up his nose. “I figured out what you were doing immediately, thank you very much. And I’ll stop staring when you find me a better source of entertainment in this dismal hole.”

“I’m under no obligation to provide you with entertainment,” Iwaizumi stated, dipping the cloth into the water and starting to pass it over his gauntlets. 

“I’m under no obligation to hold this damn baby while you polish your shit,” Oikawa retorted back.

Iwaizumi glanced up briefly, eyebrows knitting together. “Are you seriously comparing taking care of a king’s son to your entertainment needs?”

“No!” Oikawa protested, squinting and measuring up the dark-haired mini-child in his arms. “My entertainment needs are vastly more important.”

Iwaizumi shook his head, returning his focus to rinsing off the metal, earth and blood mingling together to drip onto the floor as a cloudy, dark emulsion. “You’re insane.”

“It is one of my better qualities,” Oikawa agreed, settling back down onto his moderately-comfortable bit of rock, protruding out against the jagged, damp walls.

“Then I don’t want to see your worst qualities.”

Oikawa shrugged, leaning back as much as possible, wriggling around in a futile attempt to become semi-snug. He didn’t want to discuss his bad qualities right now. Or ever, really, and definitely not with Iwaizumi. His silence made Iwaizumi’s face upturn towards him, thoughtfulness passing over his features, with his lips set together softly, a slight scrunch of his nose displaying the curiosity glinting within his green eyes. Oikawa chose not to speak, instead meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes readily, with his head angled back ever so subtly in a message of adamance. After a few, silent moments, Iwaizumi still hadn’t dropped the stare, his own expression equally rigid, unbending. Goosebumps prickled up on Oikawa’s arms, and he clasped the baby tighter to his chest unconsciously. Iwaizumi’s eyes were relentless, hunting his every flickering motion with the precision of a furqol stalking a deer, and it sent adrenaline bolting through Oikawa’s veins, unease washing over him. 

Oikawa swallowed, and exhaled deeply, glancing away. “Don’t count that as a victory. We weren’t competing.”

“I know. You look like a man who always stared people into submission, so I decided to give you a taste of how that felt.”

“Well, you seem like an asshole, so I’m going to give you a taste of that,” Oikawa snapped back. 

“Good luck with that.”

Oikawa decided not to dignify him with an answer.

He was forced to break his silence a while later by his stomach. 

“I’m hungry,” Oikawa whined, arms clasping around his stomach. “And cold. And tired. Can’t you do something?”

Iwaizumi threw him an irritated look, reclining against the opposite wall with a peacefully slumbering baby nestled in his arms. “You’re supposed to be the one who can handle magic here.”

“I can’t do anything about a snowstorm,” Oikawa complained to him, as if it was Iwaizumi’s own personal fault that they were trapped here. “Can we eat the baby? It looks fat enough.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“Who said I was joking? It could survive without an arm or a leg. Maybe even both. We can’t protect it if we’ve starved to death,” Oikawa argued back.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“This is partly your fault, you know. If I hadn’t healed you, I wouldn’t be so hun..gry…” Oikawa groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. 

“I never asked you to heal me.” 

“Still! I healed you, and you don’t even thank me!”

Iwaizumi heaved a sigh, dragging his bag over to his side and rammed a palm into it. After a few moments, he took out something swaddled in cloth and tossed it deftly over to Oikawa. “Here.”

Oikawa caught it, eyes lighting up as he unwrapped it, then his face fell. “This is only bread! It doesn’t even have cheese in it!”

“Sorry I didn’t manage to pack a banquet for you.” 

Oikawa outstretched his arm, pointing at him with the air of a crowd condemning a criminal. “You remembered to bring some milk for that demonic being, and not cheese?” 

“I didn’t know I’d be taking care of two babies,” Iwaizumi responded. 

Oikawa stared at him accusingly for a long moment. The corners of Iwaizumi's mouth twitched. "You look offended." 

"I most definitely am! You're comparing me to that - that wriggly overgrown maggot!" Oikawa burst out, utter dismay creeping into his voice. He couldn't think of a worse insult to call somebody. Iwaizumi really had no boundaries, did he? What a savage. 

Iwaizumi snorted, the edges of his eyes creasing up amusement. He didn't look so grumpy when he was smiling, or angry, or intimidating at all, really. Not that Oikawa was intimidated by him in the first place. Oikawa let out an exaggeratedly loud sigh of frustration, crossing his arms and rotating his body away from Iwaizumi, as much as he could, slinging one leg over the other. 

"I'm starving to death, and you're mocking me. How cruel." 

"I'll eat the bread, if you don't want it," Iwaizumi offered, hints of amusement still evident in his no-longer-frosty tone. 

"No," Oikawa pouted, sinking into a stooped position with displeasure. "You don't deserve it." 

He took a subdued bite, chewing away in sulky silence. It tasted like sand had been mixed in with the dough - which wasn't impossible - and that someone had pissed on it to give it flavour, but it did fill Oikawa up. While he gnawed away on the rubbery texture - how did bread feel like he was eating the leather binding of a book? - he observed Iwaizumi and the baby, who was awake but calm, giggling as he weakly clasped onto Iwaizumi's thumb, hand unable to span around the full diameter. Iwaizumi touched his nose gently, features no longer etched and harsh, but soft and warm, a faint smile shimmering on his lips. The tiny child gargled quietly, as if trying to laugh, and lips split unevenly, trying to mimic the image above him. 

Glancing over, Iwaizumi caught Oikawa's gaze, and rolled his eyes. "You can come over, you know. Babies aren't demons, no matter what you think." 

"I'm perfectly comfortable over here," Oikawa announced, weaving his fingers together. "You two seem to be all chummy already, I wouldn't want to come between you." 

Iwaizumi frowned. "Have you not visited the heir before?" 

"Sometimes," Oikawa lied, quick and succulent on his smooth lips. "I admit I've never particularly tried to bond with it before, though." 

Iwaizumi stared at him flatly. "Why don't you like babies?"

“They’re too small. And baby-like.”

Iwaizumi only continued looking at him, expressionless. “What’s the actual reason? Apart from you being a generally intolerant person.” 

Oikawa's shoulders tensed up, hands tightening around each other, twisting nervously. "They're...too fragile. Too innocent. It feels like their eyes stare through my soul," he confessed. "It unsettles me." 

"So you don't like being seen through. You lie a lot?" 

Oikawa's gaze narrowed. How about that, the warrior was smarter than he appeared. He'd have to tread cautiously from now on. Wouldn't want him finding out any more about Oikawa, the powerful Breather, mysterious and charming, would he? 

"Why would I bother lying?" Oikawa chuckled, waving a carefree hand around airily. "I've got nothing to lie about." 

Iwaizumi gazed at him, eyebrows lifted up high. "Sure." 

"It's the truth!" Oikawa protested. "I'm so hurt that you don't believe me." 

"I never said I didn't. You're the one saying that I don't believe you, so do I have a reason to not believe you?" Iwaizumi asked as if it was the most casual thing in the world. 

Oikawa blinked. "Um, okay? Since when did you turn into a person who could actually think about stuff like that?" 

"Fighting is mostly a mental battle, Oikawa. Not that you'd get that, with your pretty nails and fancy clothing." 

Oikawa huffed. "I'll have you know, I know plenty about fighting. I came from an orphanage, after all. It goes without saying that-" Oikawa froze. What was that about not revealing any more information about himself to Iwaizumi again? Great fucking job on that. He was looking at him, obviously expecting him to finish his sentence. 

Iwaizumi's sharp eyes crinkled up. "I've been trying to get you to shut up all day, and all I had to do was ask you about yourself? Good to know." 

Oikawa turned up his nose, sticking out his chin in indignation. "You can't shut me up that easily, I'll have you know. I am an expert at talking. Some may even find it soothing, how I constantly talk through the worst disasters." 

"I don't think that's a good thing." 

Oikawa angled his face away. "It is." 

"Is that so?" 

"Yes. Shut up."

Oikawa might’ve been imagining it, but he thought he caught a glimpse of something fleeting on Iwaizumi’s lips as he ducked his head down again, attentively tugging up a bit of blanket to cover the tiny child’s ear. 

Abruptly, his body tensed, scrambling up to his feet, whirling around to face the entrance of the cave. He grabbed for his sword, balancing the precious bundle in the crook of his other arm, and it was a few moments before Oikawa realised that he, too, was instinctively on his feet, staring warily at the gaping, snow-slurried mouth. 

Forms were barely perceptible through the vicious flurry of snow, but they were there, definitely there. With an uneasy glance at the fire thundering up in the middle of the floor, Oikawa understood that that was what likely attracted them. 

"If worst comes to worst," came Iwaizumi's low, serious voice. "Take the heir and, if I can't drive them out, get out." 

"They mightn't be hostile," Oikawa countered, watching the darkish figures stagger nearer and nearer. 

"Chances are that they are. We have no allies left. Only traitors and cowards." 

"Well, somebody's pessimistic," Oikawa retorted, but his eyes followed the movements as sharply as Iwaizumi did. He heard a quiet, lengthy dismissal of breath from the man, and knew he was preparing himself for a fight. The air hung thickly on Oikawa's shoulders, and he swallowed, hating the fact that he felt safer next to Iwaizumi, even if he did have a baby in one arm. He was glad he healed him, too. Oikawa wasn't much of a close-quarters combat fighter - or fighter at all, if he was being honest with himself. He much preferred a battle of wits, using barbed tongues instead of barbed weapons. 

All in all, he didn't feel very confident about this upcoming encounter. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Iwaizumi shift slightly, down into a solid stance, sword tip lifting up ever so subtly. He looked like he knew exactly how to defend himself. Oikawa suddenly wished that he'd paid more attention to the trainees sparring outside in the courtyard, below his lofty window. Reading was all well and good, but he couldn't chop someone's head off with knowledge alone. 

God _damn_ it. 

The baby chose this moment to open its pasty little mouth and let loose a shriek, making both of them jump. 

"Shut it up," Oikawa hissed out, not daring to turn around to face it. 

"Fuck," Iwaizumi cursed under his breath, having to drop his sword to wrap both arms around the crying child in a vain attempt to soothe him. "Hey, hey, it's okay..." He murmured quietly, eying the approaching people. 

Perhaps picking up on his unease, the future king kept wailing, making the hairs on the back of Oikawa's neck stand up erect. "Iwa-chan! Do something!" 

"I'm trying," Iwaizumi snapped back, swaying the child a lot more calmly then his voice let on. Noticing how close the strangers were, Iwaizumi bit his lip and strode over to Oikawa, handing him the loud, screeching packet. "Take him, and let me do the fighting." 

"Why would I trust you to do all the fighting?" Oikawa retorted back, but he took the baby gingerly. 

"Look at it this way - I'm a lot more inclined to protect you if you're holding the heir," Iwaizumi answered, and Oikawa scowled at him as the thing bawled on. "This is blackmail. I'm going to go deaf." 

"Better than dying, don't you think?" Iwaizumi shot back, spinning around and diving for his sword just as the last snatches of conversation were riding in on the wind. 

"-that idiot -" 

"- not his fault!" 

They were rapidly followed by the people that were having that conversation, two of them crossing the threshold as Iwaizumi froze in position. 

Oikawa backed up a step, instinctively angling his head back, examining the newcomers in a flash. It wasn’t possible to judge them by their faces, overshadowed by hoods which whipped in the wind, only flashing a slender streak of skin every so often. Men, from the looks of their flat figures, one gesturing everywhere, the other strolling in haughtily. Their entire bodies were almost covered by plain brown cloaks, worn by the middle-class and whoever wanted to hide. 

Seemingly too caught up in their feverish conflict, the two didn't notice them, somehow deaf to the piercing sound of the heir nestled in Oikawa's arms. 

One threw back his hood angrily, shaking the many melting snowflakes out of the front of his caramel-coloured locks. "Don't start blaming your own mistakes on him! He was only trying to guide us-"

"Guiding us fucking badly," the other drawled wryly, observing him with a vacant, half-lidded gaze, and the other's hand clenched around his bow. 

"If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have even managed to escape unscathed! So don't you dare say for one instant that this is his fault." 

A lazy raise of an eyebrow, and a challenge was issued. "What are you going to do if I say that it's his fault? File my nails? Style my hair to look just like yours? What a dismal fate," he commented dryly. 

Enraged, the man whipped out his bow, nocking it before Oikawa could blink, the arrowhead a mere few inches away from the provoker's chest. 

"I wouldn't test me, Kuroo-san," he spat out viciously. "Sugawara won't know a thing." 

"Oh. Oh dear, what a predicament I am in," the other narrated flatly, producing a short dagger only to start scooping out dirt underneath his fingernails with it. "I am terrified. How will I ever get out of this alive?" 

"Don't fuck with me," the bowman gritted out, eyes narrowing. "I will kill you." 

"One thing about you, Yahaba," Kuroo told him tonelessly, "Is that you become too fired up. Too protective of your precious mutt, and you overreact. Chill."

"I am not-!" 

A fresh high-pitched whine emptied into the cave - the goddamn baby - and both of them whirled towards Oikawa, dagger and arrowtip glinting in a way he really wasn't particularly fond of.

"Hi," he tried, half - waving with one hand. "Please do not use any of your sharp pointy weapons on me. I like my organs." 

"See?" Kuroo cried out, pointing purposefully at Oikawa, then to Iwaizumi, and back at Yahaba. "They've been trapped here so long that they've had a baby! I don't want to end up like them!” 

Iwaizumi's forehead creased up in confusion, but Oikawa was well-used to his mistake. "I'm a man," he snapped out. "I know I have the ponytail and gorgeous, slender body and the perfect pouty lips, but I'm a guy, excuse you." 

He heard Iwaizumi snort, and Oikawa shot him a death glare, to which Iwaizumi's eyes only twinkled mischievously back at. 

"Look at that. The man holding a baby is trying to refute me," Kuroo retorted back, one hand slinging onto the side of his hips. 

Iwaizumi, having donned a more serious expression, stepped forwards, his sword gripped tightly in his hand. "Who are you? Friend or foe?" 

"You know, I really dislike putting people into categories," Kuroo told him evenly, eying his blade. "Hey, that's a nice sword you got there. Where'd you get it from?" 

Something about the greedy way Kuroo stared at the artistry on the hilt caused something to click within Oikawa's mind, and he looked more closely at their attire, their belongings. Many, many pouches, strung all over plain, brown clothing, along with subtle bumps that indicated hidden weapons. Oikawa's blood turned to ice. 

"Don't trust them," he said suddenly. "They're bandits."

Kuroo grinned, and began clapping his hands together, slow and confident. "Looks like we have an intelligent one over here. Do you want your prize now or later? I'll give you a hint - it's handing over all your shit or we kill you." 

Yahaba looked slightly uneasy, perhaps because of the baby, but kept his arrow trained on Iwaizumi regardless. Iwaizumi raised his sword. "You won't find me easy to kill. I can't speak for Oikawa, though." 

Kuroo's gaze narrowed at the end of his sentence, thoughts catching onto one word. 

"Hey!" Oikawa squeaked, glowering over at him. "I'm not easy to kill either - I think! I have a baby, that'll make them feel sorry for me, right?" 

Yahaba blinked. "You do know that I could shoot you at any time, yeah?" 

"What, you expect me to sit back and stay quiet while this imbecile insults me?" Oikawa asked incredulously. "I'd rather die." Seeing the look Yahaba threw at him, he quickly backtracked. "It's just an expression, of course! I wouldn't actually die over being insulted...." 

"Oikawa?" Kuroo butted in abruptly. "That's your name?" 

"Why do you care, if you're about to kill me?" Oikawa grumbled unhappily. 

"Yeah," Iwaizumi inputted, unwelcome and totally ignoring Oikawa's furious look. "Oikawa Tooru." 

Kuroo's eyes lit up, recognising the name. "So you're from the kingdom, huh? Upper-class snobs." His eyes roamed over Oikawa harshly, and then over Iwaizumi, and once again Oikawa felt a threatening tug stir within his gut. 

"You." Kuroo pointed at Iwaizumi. "If he's Oikawa Tooru, then you must be part of the king's escort as well. You have to be Iwaizumi Hajime. What was your fancy ass official title again? Reckless and...?" 

Iwaizumi stayed silent, glowering quietly back at the man, who still hadn't shed his hood. Kuroo sighed, shaking his head. "You wound me, giving me the silent treatment. Anyways, you're both from the inner circle, so you better have some good shit. Hand it over." 

"Aren't you going to go through my official title?" Oikawa interjected. "Oikawa Tooru, the revolutionary Breather who created-" 

"Nobody cares," Kuroo dismissed him. "Iwaizumi does cooler stuff. He tamed a dragon and other things. You just heal people. Who wants to hear about that?" 

Oikawa visibly prickled, his eyes smouldering into Kuroo's shadowed ones. "I am the greatest human you'll ever come across, you ungrateful beast. You're just like Iwa-chan! A total lack of respect!" 

"If I respected anyone in the kingdom I wouldn't have whipped up a rebellion, now, would I?" Kuroo's eyes glinted, and Iwaizumi stiffened. 

"It was you?" 

"Dunno if you've noticed, but I'm fairly good at provoking fights," Kuroo explained, slowly, as if they were idiots. "I just upgraded from bar brawls to toppling kingdoms without having to lift a finger. No big deal." 

Iwaizumi was slashing at him before Oikawa's breath left his lungs, Kuroo dodging gracefully with a slick grin. "Ooh, you are as reckless as they say, aren't you?" 

Yahaba locked his aim onto the two engaged in close-quarters combat, expertly tracking their movements. Sadly, Oikawa realised that he had to do something, if he was to survive. And, as utterly despicable as the thought was, his chances of living were higher with a trained warrior around. In other words, with Iwaizumi in one piece, preferably without any arrows in him.

How bothersome. 

With a long-suffering sigh, Oikawa carefully set down the screeching kid in his arms and walked at a reasonable pace over to the fire. He selected a stick and yanked it out of the pile, smoking profusely with a dim glow within the blackened end. Not ideal, but he'd manage. With a deep breath in, he focused on the one named Yahaba, likely about to shoot Iwaizumi. Oikawa exhaled, and the trail of expanding breath flowed over the end of the lighted wood. It caught, and sparks flickered within the cloud before fire spread out like a wave, diffusing swiftly through the air towards the archer. Oikawa felt the familiar pinch on his lungs as Yahaba felt the heat shiver against his side, jerking away, his shot flying wide. The flames dissipated, wisps vanishing into the burnt air, and Oikawa could breathe again. His gratitude was short-lived, however. 

Oh, shit, flashed through his head as Yahaba turned to face him, features scrunching up into a scowl. Pissing off the guy with the bow in a confined space. Great idea. Oikawa threw up his palms helplessly.

"Please don't shoot me, or either of us. We really don't have anything worth taking, anyways." 

Yahaba paused, hesitation written all over his face. Oikawa picked up on it instantly and pressed onwards. "We're all this baby has," he told him, expression grave. "If you do choose to kill us, at least take care of i-him. Please look after him for us." He held his breath, praying that the bandit would accept the thinly-veiled emotional manipulation and not pierce his chest with an arrow.

Turns out, Yahaba was a bit of a sucker. He lowered his bow slightly, but his eyes didn’t shift from Oikawa for an instant. “If you try to interfere between Kuroo and his business, or move from that spot, I will kill you.”

“Okay, okay, no need to make death sound so ominous,” Oikawa told him lightly. 

A stifled grunt twisted both of their attention back to the fight between Kuroo and Iwaizumi, who was advancing rapidly, pushing him to the brink of the snowstorm. Kuroo's hands were full with two short, sharp daggers, little more than knives, and yet the way he wielded them allowed him to parry away Iwaizumi's stern strokes, his body whirling around the blade expertly. Kuroo spun around on his heel, blocking every skilled swipe of Iwaizumi’s blade with ease, a crooked grin hanging on his lips. With one swift movement, he slid his dagger down to the hilt of Iwaizumi's sword and twisted, prying the hilt right out of his palm. 

Before the sword even hit the floor, Iwaizumi reacted, slamming his body into Kuroo’s side and punching him out of the cave and into the snow. Catching his balance with uncanny talent, Kuroo straightened, beckoning Iwaizumi forwards with a dagger tip. 

Don't go, you stupid man, crossed Oikawa's mind right as Iwaizumi scooped back up his sword and lunged right for him. 

Kuroo’s foot smashed into his chest an instant after, and wind suddenly whirled through Oikawa's hair, freezing his ears. His eyes widened as Iwaizumi stumbled back into the cave, his face only angled downwards for a second before snapping upwards again, jaw tight and eyes flaring up. For half a moment, Oikawa thought he saw his pupils visibly blaze with a spurt of white light, but then he blinked, and the strange sheen vanished. Gripping his sword closer, Iwaizumi exhaled, his eyes never leaving Kuroo for an instant while he readied himself.

“What's the matter?” Kuroo taunted. “Has a little frozen water scared you off? I have to say, I'm disappointed. I thought the feared champion of Katachi would be a bit tougher than this.” 

Flecks of snow stuck to his cloak, his pointed face, his uproariously messy black hair, as he spread his arms, inviting Iwaizumi to attack. No, more than that - inciting him to step out of the cave, to act impulsively. Oikawa opened his mouth to warn Iwaizumi, but one glance at his expression told him that he'd already realised. 

Huh. Maybe he was a slight bit smarter than Oikawa first assumed. 

“You're the one who wants me dead,” Iwaizumi replied steadily. “You should be coming in here.” 

Kuroo lifted an eyebrow, spinning a short blade around in his fingers. “Oh? Pray, tell me. Why on earth would I want you dead?” 

Iwaizumi held his gaze. “I know when someone's trying to kill me.” 

Kuroo laughed. “So you think.”

“Uh, what?” Oikawa cut in. “Care to explain?” 

His question went unanswered. Kuroo flung a dagger down into the earth beneath his feet, and a ripple of power shot outwards, blasting Iwaizumi straight through the air to the back of the cave. Bashing against the back wall with a solid thud, Iwaizumi crumpled over weakly, seemingly knocked out. 

“Wait...you can use magic?” Oikawa asked in disbelief, staring at Iwaizumi’s folded form on the ground. 

“Lots of people can.” Kuroo shrugged. “They just choose not to.” 

“It's much too risky,” Yahaba added on. 

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I know. I'll be pissed off if you seriously hurt him though, I just healed him. I don't want to do that all over again.” 

“Scared you'll die this time?” Kuroo queried casually, tossing a dagger into the air as he walked leisurely back into the cave. He didn't appear to be any colder than he was when he stepped out. 

“Obviously! I'll-” 

He was interrupted by a loud crack, loud enough to vibrate through the cave’s very walls. Wait… Oikawa realised, frantically turning back towards Iwaizumi. It was that booming because it was coming from the cavern’s solid rock walls. 

Iwaizumi was on his feet, leaning hard on his sword, head bowed and his pants strained, heavy, but that wasn't what shocked Oikawa. It was the fact that behind him, chasms were carving their way into the stone, little shallow trickles like streams emerging from the widening depths of valleys snaking their way up towards the ceiling and down towards Iwaizumi’s feet. 

“Um,” Oikawa began, pointing uncomfortably. “Shouldn't that have happened when he hit the wall?” 

“Oh, great,” was Kuroo’s nondescript reply. “He's one of those guys.”

“What guys?” 

Kuroo shot him a look. “He's your companion, don't you know anything about him?” 

“I've only been in here like two hours!”

“I've read about people like him,” Yahaba started, his eyes far too bright. “The ones not consciously able to control or summon their magic, but it seems to awaken on its own, likely when they gets injured. I've never seen one actually use their white before.” 

The gears were shifting in Oikawa's mind, slowed but there. How he managed to escape an entire castle flooded with attackers with a kid in his arms. “Iwa-chan has magic? What? He can't control it? Then - the cave -”

“Could very possibly fall in on us if he doesn't calm down,” Yahaba summarised. 

“Okay. Okay, I've heard enough,” Oikawa announced, and he stalked over to Iwaizumi, whose gaze was still dropping to the floor. “You need to-” 

Iwaizumi raised his face, and Oikawa's words blew away from his lips, dissolved in shock. He hadn't imagined those white pupils earlier. Except now, they were a brilliant, glaring nothing colour, staring at Oikawa with a light green rimming around the perfect, diluted circle. 

Iwaizumi stumbled, and Oikawa grabbed his arm, fearful of him hurting himself even more. Well, if he was being honest, Oikawa was more afraid that he'd hurt him. The cracks behind him widened, and Oikawa shook himself out of his disbelief. 

“Iwa-chan?” 

“Wait until I kill him,” came the quiet mumble. 

“No. No, you're not killing anyone,” Oikawa ordered him, fingers digging into dark flesh. “You could end up killing me and the heir while you're at it, too.” 

“I won't,” was the certain answer, and his gaze slid off Oikawa, fixating on Kuroo. “Let me go.” 

Oikawa could feel the charge building in his fingertips, a sort of pulsing in his blood, like there were magnets in his fingers, repelling against Iwaizumi’s skin. He held on, and Iwaizumi tried to break away, very nearly managing it. Oikawa chewed his lower lip, very, very worried for his own safety. If Iwaizumi couldn't control himself and accidentally destroyed the cave...would they make it through the snowstorm alive? 

But what exactly was he supposed to do?

What even could he do? 

“Fuck it,” he said, and grasped Iwaizumi’s chin again, forcing his mouth open. 

Whispering underneath his breath, Oikawa's magic entered his body, and even as his chest constricted, Oikawa could sense his discomfort at the intrusion, Iwaizumi's own power shoving back. But Oikawa's magic wasn't there to destroy - it soothed and healed up the few fractures in his spine, then swooped out again, as calm as anything. Iwaizumi staggered sideways, and Oikawa steadied him, murmuring under his breath. Blinking quickly, Iwaizumi upturned his face to Oikawa again, and the last spots of white faded into the black. 

“What the fuck?” Kuroo blurted out. “How the shit did that work?” 

“I think I fixed the source of his pain, and - fuck, I don't know! I tried it because I couldn't do anything else short of knocking him out which I'm fairly certain might've made everything worse since it was the thing that triggered his magic in the first place!” Oikawa snapped out. “Great job on that, by the way.” 

Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Man, you're a petty guy.” 

Iwaizumi moaned, pressing a palm to his forehead. “Fuck…” 

Yahaba looked thoughtful. “Your magic is healing, right? Perhaps it soothes other types of magic, too. Like the type sparked by willpower or whatever he possesses.” 

“I don't care, it worked and that's all I need to know,” Oikawa told him, pushing away his own spark of curiosity. 

Becoming more aware, Iwaizumi glowered across at Kuroo, and Oikawa sighed heavily. “No, Iwa-chan.” 

“Don't try to order me about. He caused the fall of our kingdom. Aren't you angry?”

“I would be, if I believed him.”

“What do you mean?”

Turning around, Oikawa's gaze bore into Kuroo. "I don't think you did shit. I think you're bluffing." 

Kuroo absently threw a dagger up into the air, where it seemed to hang for a second, spinning, before he reclaimed it by snatching it from the air. "Must I inform you, I am also a time traveller. I can do anything. And why, pray, would I bother lying about something so frivolous as overthrowing an almighty king?" 

"To throw Iwa-chan off. To anger him, make you seem more imposing than the small band of dumb thieves that you are. A duo of theives stupid enough to get caught out in a snowstorm." 

"This guy gets it," Kuroo chuckled out, gesturing at Oikawa. "Your partner's name should be changed to Iwaizumi Hajime, the almightily gullible." 

Iwaizumi started forward, shoulders squared in anger, but Oikawa held him back by the arm, hissing, "If you get injured, I'm not healing you for a third goddamn time. And then I'll ditch the heir near a village and some sad childless couple can raise it," into his ear. Iwaizumi's jaw clenched shut tightly, but he backed off, and finally Oikawa was in the clear to do some negotiations without him getting in the way. 

Oikawa bowed, swift and graceful, to Kuroo and Yahaba, one hand placed behind his back. "I don't think we've introduced ourselves properly. I'm Oikawa Tooru, flawless advisor, healer, and protector of the royal family. I also am the ambassador of the kingdom, capable of maintaining good relations with our beloved neighbours. And this dunderhead here -" he straightened up, gesturing vaguely over at Iwaizumi,"Is, as you know, Iwaizumi Hajime. He kills things and trains others to kill things." 

Iwaizumi scowled at him. Oikawa blinked innocently. "Isn't that basically what you do?" 

"No," Iwaizumi said shortly. "I avoid killing when I can, and I teach others to survive." 

Oikawa dismissed him with an airy wave, turning back to the bandits with a light, welcoming smile. "Whatever. How about you two? You seem to be bosom buddies." 

"Don't patronise us," Yahaba answered back, but Kuroo raised a hand, silencing him. "Now, now, Yahaba, let's see what he has to say." 

His one visible eye glinted, and Oikawa lifted his chin defensively. He was similar to Oikawa, much too similar for Oikawa's liking. He had to be careful, and pray that Iwaizumi could keep his anger in check. Attacking now would ruin everything - there was a chance that they could win, but the odds weren't exactly stacked up in their favour. Oikawa knew that if he was on the opposite side he'd be holding a knife to the baby's throat by now, sneakily forcing the opponent to back down. He had a feeling the same notion had crossed Kuroo's mind. Bandits weren't known for being honest and caring. 

"I am Kuroo Tetsurou," Kuroo declared, slinging a hand onto his hip, eying Oikawa up and down fleetingly. "Acting leader of the group known as The Flightless. Professional provoker, cheater, stealer and liar. It's an honour to meet one of my own," he finished, imitating Oikawa's bow somewhat mockingly, flamboyant and exaggerated. 

Oikawa's lips curled back. "I'm nothing like you." 

"Of course you're not." Kuroo's face was blank. "Because you've got a fancy title, is that it?" 

Oikawa's eyes burned into his. Neither faltered, and in the silence, Yahaba cleared his throat and stepped forwards.

"Yahaba Shigeru, scout, archer." 

"Trainee," Kuroo drawled. "Can't even control Kyoutani properly." 

Yahaba spun around to him, furiously jabbing a finger into his chest. "I'm still learning, and you can't control him at all! You don't get to say that." 

Oikawa quirked an eyebrow upwards. "Who's this Kyoutani, now? He sounds interesting." 

"Nobody," Kuroo answered smoothly, gaze flickering to Iwaizumi. "If you're wondering how I knew who you were, I'll give you a hint. It's not because you're relatively famous." 

Iwaizumi's eyes narrowed. "I know. I killed your previous leader." 

Kuroo brought his hands together, claps coming slow and even, measures, controlled, echoing off the walls ominously. "Congratulations. Dear old Sawamura really deserved it, didn't he?" 

"He was a criminal, and tried to kill me. I defended myself." 

Kuroo spread his hands, shrugging. "Very inconsiderate of you to not let him, in my own opinion, but it doesn't matter now. To make up for it, if you could kindly give up and let me slit your throat open, we'd all be very happy here." 

Iwaizumi's shoulders sloped upwards as he lifted up his sword ever so slightly, his form tight and controlled. "Not a chance." 

"Now, now," Oikawa interjected with a soothing smile, lifting up a hand. The baby squirmed uncomfortably in his arms, and he had to force himself not to let his smile falter for an instant. 

Not now, you stupid mistake, he cursed it inwardly. 

"I have a proposal," he continued on, aware of Kuroo rolling his eyes but choosing to ignore him. "How about nobody kills anyone-"

"-Unlikely," Iwaizumi cut in. "Kuroo's pissing me off." 

"Oh, really?" Kuroo shot back. "Why is that? I only want to bring your head back on a stick to Sugawara. I'll owe you a favour if you let me decapitate you. It's a sweet offer." 

"Gentlemen," Oikawa interrupted swiftly, stepping in between them. "Let's not fight - for now. I think we all share a common problem here-"

"Iwaizumi," Kuroo said. 

"Kuroo," Iwaizumi growled out at the same time. Yahaba rolled his eyes, his arrow still nocked, but the string was slack. The fact spurred Oikawa on, springing hope that he might actually be getting somewhere. 

"Listen, we're both stuck here for the moment. How about we all try to get along, just until this snowstorm ends?" He suggested. "Then there'll be no corpse in the corner stinking up the cave."

"And once the snowstorm ends?" Yahaba asked. 

"Then we peacefully part ways, eat, and you can try to kill Iwa-chan another day, leaving me out of it." 

"Nah," Kuroo said, twirling his knives around in his fingers. "I'm going to gut Iwaizumi, dump his body out in the snow to freeze, and then wait the storm out. You with me, Yahaba?" 

Yahaba hesitated. “What then?” 

“Then we go back to Sugawara with his head.” 

“Not likely,” Iwaizumi growled out, and Oikawa shushed him. 

“What about the kid?” Yahaba asked. 

Kuroo shrugged. “They have the other lady to look after - whoops, sorry, guy to look after them.” 

Oikawa refused to fall for the beyond obvious trap to rile him up, but he couldn't deny that his feathers weren't entirely unruffled. He swallowed, trying to think of an angle that could save this situation. Best scenario for him, Iwaizumi stayed alive and took the baby off his hands, out of his responsibility zone, and then he could do whatever the hell he wanted. 

Unfortunately, things weren't looking too good for Iwaizumi’s chances of survival. 

Kuroo flicked his dagger around his fingers absently, one slender finger jabbing at Iwaizumi. “Ready to die?” 

“Hold it, hold it,” Oikawa interrupted, pressing a palm flat against Iwaizumi’s chest to prevent him from stepping forwards. “Just wait and second and think about this -”

“I've been thinking about the moment I get to slaughter the monster who killed Sawamura for years,” Kuroo spoke slowly, smoothly. “If you think I'm waiting, you're insane.” 

Oikawa's heartbeat quickened as Kuroo advanced, Iwaizumi’s body tensing beside him. 

“Perhaps we could-“ 

He broke off, distracted by a dark shift in the snow beyond Kuroo. 

“What is that?”

Iwaizumi’s low murmur was far too close to his ear. 

All at once, a third party staggered into the cave and collapsed, limbs spilling out onto the cavern floor messily, loose clothing pouring over the form. Yahaba seemed to recognise the faceless person instantly, bow clattering onto the hard ground as he kneeled down beside the figure. 

"Kyoutani?" came the whisper from his cracking lips, colour sinking from his face. He grabbed his shoulder and turned him over, slow and cautious. 

“Kyoutani - Kuroo, he’s barely breathing!” 

Kuroo threw a last glare over at Iwaizumi before moving to Yahaba’s side, concern creasing over his brow as he examined the figure. He pressed a hand to his cheek. 

“Shit… Yahaba, get the _lazalea_ potion from the bag at my hip,” Kuroo ordered, hastily detaching his cloak and winding it tightly around the blonde-haired boy. “We’re going to warm him from the inside out.” 

“Are you sure? What if it melts his insides?” Yahaba protested, but Kuroo only shook his head. 

“Do you have a better idea?” 

Yahaba went pale. 

Oikawa squinted, daring to step in nearer. He heard Iwaizumi’s deep breath of relief and knew that after that surge of power, he was no longer a match for Kuroo. 

Oikawa saw an opportunity, and, boy, did he seize it. "Okay," he announced. "I heal this guy, you leave us alone. Deal?" 

He didn't trust Kuroo to uphold his end of the deal, but he had a gut sense that Yahaba still had some decency, and undoubtedly the desire to preserve Kyoutani that Oikawa could exploit to his advantage. 

Kuroo only held up his middle finger to him. “We can help our own people just fine.” 

Oikawa stared at Yahaba, whose hands began to shake around the circular potion bottle. 

“I can help,” Oikawa insisted. “And I definitely won’t turn his organs to lava.” 

“Hand me the bottle,” Kuroo demanded, outstretching a hand, the other one propping up the back of Kyoutani’s head. 

Yahaba hesitated, eyes flitting from Oikawa to Kuroo nervously. “Kuroo… it’s less risky if-“

Kuroo’s gaze snapped over to him sharply. “Don’t listen to him. He’s manipulating you to do what’s best for him. Give me the potion. He’s dying, Yahaba.” 

Kuroo’s eyes narrowed to slits as Yahaba hesitated, unable to help himself from looking over at Oikawa. “But - there’s no risk to Kyoutani if Oikawa tries, and then we can try the potion if that doesn’t work. I’ve been reading up on Breathers and Oikawa’s one of the most skilled out there if he can’t do it the potion barely has a chance-”

Kuroo snatched the bottle out of Yahaba’s hand and tilted Kyoutani’s head back with one hand, pried open his mouth with the other, swiftly removed the bottle top with his teeth and poured the glossy liquid straight down Kyoutani’s throat. Yahaba made a little strangled noise and rapidly scuffled closer, fingers white around Kyoutani’s wrist. 

Oikawa glanced over at Iwaizumi, who gave him a nod, outstretching a hand to support himself against the cave wall. “Go make a deal,” he muttered, indicating over at the trio. “I’ll be better in a few minutes.”

“Get ready to watch me solve all of your problems for you,” Oikawa answered, letting go of Iwaizumi and handing the baby over to him. 

He approached the bandits with all of the confidence he could muster. Which was a surprisingly large amount. 

“I would rather not have a man I could save die right in front of me,” he announced, taking a risk and kneeling down on the other side of Kyoutani, opposite Kuroo and Yahaba, hands up. “Let me help him.”

Kuroo’s eyes were as smooth and empty as a desert. “We have it under control.”

Oikawa took a long look at Kyoutani. His jaw was slack, red-rimmed eyes swollen, eyebrows protruding in a characteristic way Oikawa was sure he recognised from somewhere, pale, flat cheeks streaked with still-solid snowflakes and...ashes? 

“He doesn’t look any better after that potion, does he?” Oikawa observed, careful of the quiet cleverness behind Kuroo’s flat gaze, calculating his words. “I can help. All I ask is that you leave us alone.”

"What about you?" Kuroo drawled out, pointing his dagger at Iwaizumi. "What will you give us if we leave you alone?"

"I'll tell you how your previous leader really died," Iwaizumi said shortly. 

Oikawa’s eyes flashed over to Iwaizumi in alarm, chest twisting, but Iwaizumi only met his gaze for a second before returning to Kuroo. 

Kuroo's nonchalant mask almost broke, rising to his feet. "What do you mean? He died by your hand! You killed him!" 

Iwaizumi stayed silent. Striding forwards, Kuroo jabbed his dagger to a tanned throat, blood leaking slowly down the tip. Oikawa could see Iwaizumi’s fingers clench around his sword hilt, and prayed that his instincts didn’t manage to break through. If they began fighting again, any diplomatic opportunity would be lost.

"Want to tell all of us how you murdered my best friend?" Kuroo spat out.

“If you let Oikawa heal Kyoutani,” Iwaizumi said evenly.

"How about if you tell me right now I won’t kill that baby right in front of you?”

Yahaba’s nerves broke. "Kuroo, stop it! Kyoutani doesn't have-" 

"I don't give a damn about him," Kuroo growled out, lips curling back to bare his teeth at Iwaizumi, as if he wanted to tear out his throat personally. "I want to know the truth." 

Iwaizumi's calm expression didn't waver, but the goddamn baby suddenly remembered it had lungs and began bawling at the top of them. 

"Oh by the gods, please, for the love of fuck, shut up," Oikawa sighed out, and his eyes drifted sideways, meeting Iwaizumi's. For the first time since he'd been stuck in this stupid place with him, a spark of understanding passed between them. Iwaizumi inclined his chin downwards - a movement easily missed if you weren't looking for it - and Oikawa nodded back. 

"Shut it up," Kuroo commanded, glowering at Oikawa out of the side of his eye. 

"I'm not good with babies," Oikawa began carefully. "Iwa-chan, is, though." 

"What are you implying?" 

"You back off, Iwa-chan will be able to calm the heir, then I'll heal Kyoutani over there, and then we'll settle around the fire for a cozy murder tale. Does that sound good?" 

"The heir?" Yahaba blurted out, to Oikawa's surprise. He'd thought he was much too focused on Kyoutani to properly listen to their conversation. "That's the future king there?" 

"Um," Oikawa said, painfully aware that Iwaizumi was glaring at him and that he probably most definitely shouldn't have mentioned that fact. “Possibly. I misspoke. His hair. He has a fine head of hair on him already, doesn’t he?” 

Kuroo glanced down at the bald baby. The muscles in his jaw tensed, but he stepped away from Iwaizumi, dagger still held high. “You better have a good story, or this will end the exact same. I’ll enjoy looting your corpse,” he warned, a cautious half-smile slinking on his lips. 

To Oikawa’s relief, Iwaizumi held his tongue, eyes blazing. 

“Kuroo?” came Yahaba’s fearful, wobbling voice. “I don’t think it’s working.”

Oikawa looked over at Kyoutani, at the smoke rising from his mouth, and smelt the crisp, sickening odour of flesh melting in fire. 

“I need to heal him now,” Oikawa blurted out, shifting closer to Kyoutani. 

Kuroo grabbed Oikawa by the arm, fingernails almost drawing blood, and forced him to lean in, faces only inches apart. 

“If you mess this up, nothing will save you,” he hissed as Oikawa lost feeling in his arm below Kuroo’s grip. 

He looked at Kuroo. “I won’t.” 

He shook him off and bent over Kyoutani, words and breath already swelling up on his tongue. There was a sizzling in the air before his lips, the emulsion of Kyoutani’s defiant, smoking body and Oikawa’s cooling aura already battling it out.

“If I mess this up I will die regardless,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. 

Oikawa barely noticed Iwaizumi’s quiet murmurs to the baby, soothing him with a rich, hummed song. He closed his eyes and dove back into his years of study, sifting through thousands of words he’d come to think of as home. He didn’t notice Iwaizumi move to stand behind him, watching him work with a silent child in his arms. 

“ _Fluvius oblenio_ ,” he murmured, and his breath obeyed, flowing down Kyoutani’s throat like a luminescent stream of fireflies. 

Yahaba sucked in a breath. “Does it always look like that?”

“No,” Iwaizumi answered. “It was different when he healed me earlier.” 

Oikawa kept his eyes shut, attempting to move as little as possible, waiting literally breathlessly until the unknown moment arrived when his breath returned to his blood. A shudder passed through his body - no, that wasn’t him -

“Shit! Yahaba, keep his head from hitting against the ground.”

A desperate scramble followed, and Oikawa tried to focus and not panic, sometimes people didn’t react to pain well, it didn’t mean that things were going wrong. It did _not_ mean things were going wrong. Even if his chest was tightening, the sides of his lungs pulling dangerously close together, the insides of them almost touching -

Oikawa cracked open his eyes. Kyoutani was convulsing in front of him in the wet dirt, Yahaba’s hands covered with mud as he frantically tried to stop his head from splitting open against the dusty floor of the cave. Kuroo was doing his best to stop Kyoutani from flailing too violently, but Oikawa could feel the vibrations of his shaking through his knees. It didn’t help him maintain a calm mindset. His heartbeat expanded in his ears, consuming his body, making everything thud in time with it, a cry. 

“You said he’d be fine!” Yahaba yelped out, his big, sandy eyes locking onto Oikawa, and it was as if he was pouring acid down his throat. 

Oikawa could only nod as reassuringly as he could back, but it was faint, betraying the doubt wracking through him. Yahaba turned his face away, and Oikawa deliberately avoided Kuroo’s glower. It would work. It had to. 

He felt Iwaizumi's hand on his shoulder as he swayed, vision darkening. "Should it take this long? It didn't take this long before.." 

It's bad, shot through Oikawa's mind, panicked and circling around and around as he gave in, opened his mouth, wildy, silently gasping for his absent breath. He tried to calm himself once more - but his fingertips felt numb, shivers crawling over his discoloured lips. 

"Oikawa, hey, Oikawa!" 

Barely aware of Iwaizumi's voice, Oikawa's lungs writhed, clawing out for some semblance of oxygen. Great. Just fantastic, he thought as the strength flickered from his starved limbs. I'm going to die saving a random criminal in a freezing cave in the middle of nowhere at the grand age of thirty-two. This is nothing like the magnificent death I imagined.

With that cheerful fact in mind, Oikawa slumped into darkness. 

The next thing he was conscious of was fire rolling around his lungs, dancing up his constricted throat as if teasing him. His vision slowly came back as the pain ebbed away, his head spinning with the lack of oxygen. Somehow he was still upright -

“Are you back?” 

Oh. Oikawa leaned his hands against his forehead, trying to stop the pulsing. “Yes. And I don’t need help to sit upright now, so you can stop touching me.”

Iwaizumi hesitated, his arm tensing around Oikawa’s shoulder. “You sure? If you collapse I’ll probably have to patch you up. I don’t want to do that.”

Oikawa inhaled deeply, hoping how shaken he was didn’t show through on his face. He gave himself a second, then forced himself to remove his hands from his face. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he told Iwaizumi coarsely, roughly shrugging off his arm. “I’m fine. Is that guy alive?”

“Yes, thanks to you,” Yahaba chipped in instantly, and when Oikawa turned his thankfully stabilising head to him, his eyes were far too wide and unguarded for his liking. 

“I may not kill you now,” Kuroo informed him, and the familiar coldness of his gaze was almost welcoming. 

Oikawa glanced down at Kyoutani. His skin was still unnaturally pale, but the snowflakes falling on his sharp cheeks were melting now, and his breaths were even and audible. 

“If you had let me help him earlier, I might’ve not passed out.”

“If I had let you heal him any later, you’d probably be dead,” Kuroo replied. “You’re welcome.” 

Oikawa rose to his feet, trying to ignore the weakness in his limbs, but stumbled back down to his knees, cursing underneath his breath. 

“Don’t push yourself,” Iwaizumi’s voice came from beside him, and Oikawa gritted his teeth. 

“I don’t need advice from someone who came into this cave bleeding out from a wound,” he snapped back, but Iwaizumi only rested his free hand on his shoulder calmly. 

“Give yourself a few moments, at least,” he suggested, watching how Yahaba flit over Kyoutani, attempting to wake him by shaking him gently. 

Oikawa didn’t have the energy in him to tell him to mind his own fucking business. So he only rolled his eyes, tolerating Iwaizumi’s hand for now, and observed Kyoutani slowly wake up, eyelashes shifting quickly, throwing shadows over his cheeks. 

"Is…” Iwaizumi coughed awkwardly, turning his head as if to physically discontinue his sentence. "I mean, is there any way of helping you? While you're like that?" 

"You mean, while I'm choking to death?" Oikawa answered dryly. "Not that I know of, unless you're another Breather." He glowered across at Yahaba, who was carefully helping Kyoutani sit up. "You could've told me how badly he was injured, asshole." 

"I didn't know," Yahaba defended himself, but there was no bite in his words. Leaving a heaving Kyoutani for a moment, Yahaba scrambled to his feet and flung himself forward into a bow. "Thank you, Oikawa-senpai!" 

"See?" Oikawa commented offhandedly. "He has respect, calling his superior senpai. Obviously, sama would be better, but senpai will do. You're welcome," he finished carelessly. "Go tend to your friend or whatever." 

"By the Lady, how egotistical can you get?" Iwaizumi muttered under his breath, loud enough to drift to both Oikawa's and Kuroo's ears. Kuroo didn't even bother to hide his snicker, unaffected by Oikawa's indignant glaring. "You two are uncivilised brutes," he claimed, huffily crossing his arms over his chest. 

His stomach lurched, and he groaned. “Feed me. I've healed someone three times today and I need nourishment.” 

Kuroo, after a moment, produced a small leather bag and tossed it to Oikawa. “Here. Now we’re even, and I can kill you whenever I feel like it. Agreed? Good.”

Oikawa resisted the urge to scowl at him and instead plastered a beautiful big smile on his face, opening the bag cautiously. “How kind of you, after I almost died to save your friend, to give me..”

He looked into the bag, expecting to see a scorpion, but, to his immense shock, all he saw was a couple slices of ordinary bread and two small slabs of meat. “Hmm. An acceptable offering, I suppose.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes. “Don’t push your luck. You’ve already done all you can for me.”

Oikawa smiled wider at him. “I don’t have luck I can push.”

Yahaba blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

“If you believe in luck, you’re a moron,” Oikawa said shortly. 

“It doesn't matter,” Kuroo dismissed him sharply, eyes cutting through him to Iwaizumi crouching beside him, baby nestled in his arms. “I believe there was a second part to our deal.” 

Iwaizumi nodded wordlessly. 

“Ooh, I love ghost stories!” Oikawa exclaimed, satisfied by how Kuroo’s lips tightened in annoyance. “Are we going to break out some snacks?” 

“Maybe,” Kuroo began, standing up and gazing down at Oikawa and Iwaizumi, right hand quite obviously tracing the hilt of a dagger laying against his hip. “We’d enjoy the story better if Oikawa opted to stay silent during it.” 

“Maybe we’d enjoy it more with my masterful commentary,” Oikawa suggested, and Iwaizumi’s elbow dug into his arm. 

“For once, shut up.” 

If Oikawa hadn’t been so weak, he would’ve shoved Iwaizumi’s head into the dirt. Or well, tried to at least. 

Kuroo glanced over at Yahaba and Kyoutani, and then indicated with his lengthy fingers over to the dying fire. “Shall we move to somewhere more comfortable?” 

His canine teeth, bared in a crafty “smile,” told them that it wasn’t a question. Oikawa gave him a large smile back and carefully got to his feet, praying his legs didn’t give out again. They didn’t, only quiver a slight bit, and Oikawa breathed out a sigh of relief. 

The sound of a fresh log cracking against the blackened wood already there startled Oikawa out of his skull. He blinked fast, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye, knowing that he most definitely overexerted himself in the last few hours. He couldn’t even recall moving over to sit in front of the fire. 

“So,” Kuroo prompted, crouched unnervingly close to Oikawa’s left hand side. “I was told you have a story to tell me.” 

“I’m limited to what I can say,” Iwaizumi started, and Kuroo only began heating up his dagger blade in the fire. 

“Why’s that, now?” 

Iwaizumi’s momentary hesitation made Kuroo’s glare even sharper. 

“I hope you’re not trying to weasel out of a deal, because even bandits don’t like it when a deal falls through,” Kuroo said slowly, rotating his glowing blade in the flames. “We tend to become..antsy.” 

It suddenly pierced Oikawa’s slowed brain why he’d sat so close to him. He swallowed, looking across at Iwaizumi, praying he knew what he was doing. The child was silent in his arms, his jaw loose, but he was so focused on Kuroo that he didn’t even notice Oikawa’s eyes fastened on him in borderline panic. 

“No. By the time I’m finished, you’ll know why,” Iwaizumi simply stated, and Kuro raised his eyebrows, leaning back slightly. 

“For Oikawa’s well-being, I hope that’s true,” he casually replied. “You might want to get into it soon, too.” 

“Daichi and I have been good friends for a long time,” Iwaizumi began. “We met while I was hunting down a dakeshi, along the border of Awero -“

“Good... _friends_?” 

Iwaizumi raised his free hand, trying to temper Kuroo’s blazing gaze. “Let me finish. I’ll explain everything I can.” 

“Better finish quickly.”

“I should mention that he’s still alive.”

“Really? Why didn’t you just start with that?” Kuroo drawled sarcastically. “Then I might’ve realised that I actually didn’t see you cleave his head from his neck after all.” 

“Look, I don’t know how to put this, but you know of Sugawara’s ability, right? Memory manipulation?”

“How do you?” 

“Because I’m friends with Daichi.” 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“I can only tell you the truth -“

“What, Daichi didn’t really die and his own lover pretended like he did so he could…? Come up with a better truth.” 

Iwaizumi’s teeth quietly stripped his lower lip of skin. “That’s the bit I can't tell you.” 

Kuroo stood up, glowing blade clenched tightly in hand. “Well, that’s lovely. You can’t give me a single rational answer or a single thing of proof to back up your lunatic fairytale. I won’t kill Oikawa, since he healed Kyoutani, and the baby will be safe with him.” 

Oikawa groaned inwardly. Great, he was still going to be saddled with the fucking baby.

“Wait,” Iwaizumi told him, scrabbling one-handed at his shirt, hastily tugging at the buttons. “If I’m not friends with Daichi, explain why I have this.” 

He quickly tore off his entire sleeve and lifted his left arm up high. On the soft inside of it, either a tattoo or a burn scar blazed clear and bright against tanned skin. Squinting through the shimmering heat of the fire, Oikawa realised that the edges were sharp, clean, deliberate - but far too flesh-like to be red ink. It was simple, two xs crossed over each other, but the second x’s top left line intercepted the first on its lower right leg. 

It was evidently enough to give Kuroo hesitation, because he lowered his dagger, eyes not hostile for once. 

“How did you get that?” 

“We were branded together,” Iwaizumi said quietly. “He’s my brother. I could never kill him, even if I wanted to. You know this prevents me from harming one of my own.” 

“It’s fake.” Kuroo’s lips curled up from his teeth. ”It has to be fake. I _saw_ you kill him.” 

“Because Sugawara manipulated your memory. We knew you’d never stop looking for him if he only disappeared, and wouldn’t believe that someone else killed him if you didn’t see it with your own eyes.” 

Oikawa saw Kuroo’s eyes flash wide, but that was the only warning sign. 

Kuroo abruptly pulled his dagger from the fire and flung it straight into Iwaizumi’s scar, sinking almost up to the hilt in his flesh. A garbled cry escaped Iwaizumi before he clamped his mouth shut, jaw trembling. He held his arm out, and Oikawa watched his blood swell up around the hilt of the dagger and drip slowly to the floor. The baby let out a soft hiccup, but nothing more. 

“It’s fak-“ Kuroo began to say. 

He was stopped by having to dodge the same dagger projected out of Iwaizumi’s arm, clattering hard against the other side of the cave. Oikawa stared as Iwaizumi dropped to his knees, arm falling back to his side, his rough breathing filling up the cave. He hadn’t seen Iwaizumi touch the dagger or tug it free or throw it - maybe it was too fast for him? All of those movements? 

“It’s real,” Iwaizumi told Kuroo, voice heavy with pain but he still managed to raise his arm again, this time showing unscathed skin, no gash left in his scar. “Do you believe me yet? I couldn’t have killed him.” 

As he spoke, a trickle of blood leaked onto his lower lip, and Oikawa realised that he must’ve bitten his tongue in an effort to keep silent. He glanced back at Kuroo, whose hands were rigidly bound fists, clenching around air. Something hung between them, simmering over the fire, and Oikawa could hear Kyoutani’s struggling breaths easily in the silence. Everyone else seemed to know not to breathe. 

After about twenty seconds of nothing, Oikawa grew tired of the standoff. 

“Am I missing something here?” Oikawa wondered aloud. He broke the silence, and Kuroo turned away from Iwaizumi to pick up his now-dented blade. 

“Daichi told me that it could do that, but I still don’t know if-“

Kuroo shook his head, cutting himself off. 

“Yahaba, Kyoutani, get up. We’re leaving.” 

Oikawa threw a glance out at the swirling wall of snow. 

“Are you going to make sure that your friend freezes to death this time?” Oikawa asked innocently, and Kuroo’s jaw tightened. 

An unfamiliar voice, coarse and cracking, came from the corner. “I’m fine. I can walk.”

Oikawa eyed the young man - more like Yahaba’s age, which made him a boy in Oikawa’s eyes - and clearly saw the minute trembling of his limbs underneath his threadbare cloak. He lifted his gaze to his streaked face, and a little river of surprise ran through him. He knew that look, that resolutely set jawline, the darkness lurking around his eyes, and those marks on his face. 

Yahaba caught Kuroo’s gaze and silently shook his head as Oikawa finally recalled where he’d seen Kyoutani’s type before. He had all the characteristics of a Pahro, a proud tribe of the North, surviving where deserts reigned with a destructive fist over any who tried to venture further than a day’s travel in. What was one doing down here? And with bandits, no less. 

Kuroo paced over to them and sat beside them like a snake coiling back into itself to attack, unblinking eyes never moving from Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi’s cool stare didn’t falter either, his sword propped against the inside of his knee in a facade of a casual aura as he rested back against the wall. It was still cracked. 

“Are you -“

Kyoutani’s voice petered out, the husk of strength crumbling. A minute or two later, he continued his question. 

“The Iwaizumi Hajime? The Storm-Slayer?” 

Iwaizumi gave a short nod. “Yeah.”

He absently traced his scar, finger circling around the cross of energy. The heir stirred in the crook of his arm. 

“Hey, I have a cool nickname too,” Oikawa interjected. “Aren’t you going to ask me about that?” 

He received three cold stares in response. 

“You’re a legend in my city,” Kyoutani told him, bypassing Oikawa’s protest completely. 

“Where are you from?”

“Akoli.” 

“The place were the rogue group of storms were terrorising?” 

“Yes.”

“I’m glad I could help.” 

Kyoutani only nodded back. 

“He’s been listening to tales of you since he was fourteen,” Yahaba added, and Kyoutani turned his head to glower fiercely at him. 

“Enough.” 

Iwaizumi only laughed lowly, for a moment. “That’s flattering to hear.” 

Oikawa begrudgingly admitted to himself that his laugh, deep and reassuring, was not the worst sound he’d ever heard. 

Kyoutani’s ears reddened, but he didn’t protest further. 

After that, an uneasy truce was constructed between them, with Kuroo and Iwaizumi warily glancing at each other every few minutes from opposite sides of the cave. 

Oikawa shifted closer to Iwaizumi, testily glancing at the baby in his arms, apparently settled down and sleeping. He didn’t trust it to wake up for no reason at all and begin bawling yet again. 

“Hey,” Oikawa hissed, and Iwaizumi’s eyes reluctantly drew away from Kuroo. “What is that scar? I know already, obviously, but I just want to make sure that I’m right.” 

Iwaizumi’s flat response told him he was having none of it. “And what do you think - sorry, _know_ \- it is?” 

“Well, firstly,” Oikawa began, continuing with his bluff anyways, “it’s a brand that can heal itself, can reject foreign bodies while doing so, and somehow stop you from killing another person with it.” 

Iwaizumi gave a crisp nod. “That’s some of it.” 

Oikawa waited, but Iwaizumi didn’t seem willing to fill in any more. 

“So?” Oikawa prompted. 

“So if you don’t know any more than I’ve shown you today that means it’s probably not information that can be given out carelessly.” 

“I’m not just anyone!” Oikawa protested, more than a bit of offence running through him. “I was trusted by the king himself to take care of his child-“

“And you’re doing so well at that, aren’t you?” 

Oikawa bit back his anger, anger that would only show that Iwaizumi’s point was true. Instead, he painted the image of calm over his features, relaxing them with a single breath, his voice coming out as slick as oil between his teeth. 

“So you’re not going to tell me? After all we’ve been through together? I saved your life, several times. Does that not mean anything to you, Iwa-chan?” 

“I can see why you were the head diplomat,” Iwaizumi commented, eyes as sharp as ever. “You’re good at getting what you want with whatever way works.” 

Oikawa fought not to change his expression an inch, to maintain the facade of innocent serenity. Fucker. 

“Maybe you should’ve been one too,” he retaliated, giving Iwaizumi a smile with serrated edges. “Since you’re so good at dodging important questions.” 

“They weren’t questions. We both know you only saved me so you wouldn’t have to take on the responsibility of looking after the child.” 

“You know, putting it like that makes me seem quite cold.”

“You mean saying it out loud,” Iwaizumi answered blankly, and the genuine calmness in his voice almost caused Oikawa’s mask to fracture. 

“Your low opinion of me is completely unjustified,” he told him, and, to his annoyance, he heard a crack of anger in his tone. 

Iwaizumi only blinked back at him. 

“Is it?” 

“You know what? You can think whatever you want,” Oikawa declared, the ends of his patience fizzling out. “I’m going to sleep.”

He stood and moved as far away from Iwaizumi as he could, turning his back to him so his scowl could finally break free. He hadn’t expected the over-glorified oaf to be.. well, smart. It was usually either wiles or bulging muscles, and the two rarely crossed over. Oikawa himself was an exception, obviously, but from someone who made a living bashing heads in? 

Oikawa gritted his teeth and tried to settle himself down, otherwise he’d be getting no sleep. After a few minutes of lying on cold stone, he sighed deeply and braced himself against the side of the cave, which was slightly less freezing. The only sounds were the hushed whispers of Kyoutani and Yahaba’s conversation, barely detectable above the harsh whistling of the snowstorm outside, and the dying crackles of the fire as the flames claimed the wood, bit by bit. 

He focused on his breathing, subtly allowing it to expand past his lips and flex around his fingers before gathering it back up into his body. He made certain to practice every day; the more his lungs could take, the speedier his breaths were, the less chance of him passing out. And dying. Which was always good to avoid. 

Straightening his back, he closed his eyes, visualising the thin stream of breath shimmering through the air, and exhaled slowly. Waited until he felt the grip of breathlessness on his lungs. Inhaled. Repeated. 

He was violently yanked from his haze by a sharp pain splintering across the inside of his middle finger, causing him to draw in his breath abruptly. Shit, he mustn’t have being paying enough attention. Quickly, he lifted his cut finger to his lips, sucking away the blood before anyone saw. His eyes darted left and right, but everyone seemed absorbed in their own business, thankfully, even if it only was angrily staring at another person. 

Exhaling, he settled his hands in his lap and his back against the wall, which wasn’t quite as bumpy as the rest of the sides. He’d slept in worse places - he could handle one night sleeping outside of luxury. Of course, he’d rather fucking not, but it wasn’t worth bitching about. 

Oikawa allowed his shoulders to fall, body relaxing down against the stone. Kuroo wasn’t going to kill any of them tonight, thanks to the doubt Iwaizumi’s tattoo placed into his mind. Well, probably not. And even if he was inclined to do so, it would be Iwaizumi in danger. 

He heard footsteps padding in his direction, but that was the only warning he got before the thin voice piped up. 

"Oikawa-senpai?" 

Oikawa glanced up lazily, vision clouded with the promise of near-sleep, but he could still make out that cloud-like mass of puffy hair. "Oh, Yahaba-kun. What brings you here?" 

Yahaba patted the side of his hair, then dropped both his arms down by his sides in an almost military-like gesture of formality. "I'll get right to the point. I am a Breather too, but inexperienced and without a teacher. So I implore you, Oikawa-senpai, to please take me on as your student." 

Oikawa shut one eye lethargically. "Do I look like the generous, giving type?" 

Yahaba's lips pressed together, sensing that he wasn't to answer the question. Nonetheless, he pushed further. "If I knew more, I could've helped Kyoutani myself, and you wouldn't have blacked out. I have to -"

"You don't have to do anything," Oikawa retorted sharply, folding his hands behind his head. "And neither do I." 

He could almost feel Yahaba's pride sparking up into a fiery temper, but he managed to keep his head for another attempt at persuasion. "I can pay you-"

"What, with your stolen money? No thanks," Oikawa sniffed. 

"Your previous employer paid you with money stolen from helpless peasants," Yahaba informed him. "My wealth is a lot more justified than that. What are you going to do after this storm ends, anyway? You have no king to serve, no purpose, and you don't seem to want to take care of that child. He has that handled well." Yahaba gestured back to Iwaizumi, cradling the silent heir in his arms. His gaze drifted over with mild curiosity, and Oikawa knew that he was carefully taking stock of their conversation now. 

He sighed heavily, grooming out the end of his fine ponytail. "I can easily find work elsewhere. I don't think you understand, dear Yahaba, that I don't need to have a purpose in life. I am practically flawless, and I do as I will. I'm not about to go to the bother of training you in the complexities of Breathing without a strong, strong incentive that you don't have and can't give me. Good day." 

Satisfied with his little speech, Oikawa turned his back to Yahaba, then paused, thinking of something else. "And what about your bandit training? Do you honestly think I'd live with such savagery? Or would you be willing to give up your esteemed future career for it?" 

He angled his chin to rest on his shoulder, observing emotions pave across Yahaba's face with harsh amusement. That boy - Oikawa estimated he couldn't be any more than twenty, twenty three maximum - really wasn't good at keeping his feelings to himself, and Oikawa could see his anger gathering, festering, as clearly as he could see the sun dropping in the sky on a cloudless evening. It surprised him when Yahaba forcefully bit down on his lip, and began talking calmly again. 

"Surely there must've been a reason why you became such a skilled Breather," he started. "I want-" 

"There was," Oikawa told him, voice low. "And it didn't help one single bit. It's not a fucking miraculous solution to all the world's suffering, so go away and leave me in peace." 

Yahaba's face grew flustered, finally. "I never said it was! I just thought-" 

"It doesn't matter what you thought, I'm not going to teach you anything,” Oikawa stated harshly. 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi cut in sharply. “That's enough. He gets the point.” 

“Don't try to order me about,” Oikawa bit back. “You might think that holding a baby makes you superior, but it doesn’t.” 

“He’s only a boy,” Iwaizumi told him, a lot more softly than Oikawa had snapped at him. 

Oikawa was about to fire back another insult when he caught a glimpse of Yahaba’s face. It was the exact same look he’d had when he’d believed that Kyoutani was going to die. The scathing phase faded away on Oikawa’s tongue. 

He satisfied himself with a simple, “My answer stands,” and turned away from Yahaba’s deflated eyes, tucking his hands behind his head. He leaned back against the cold wall, a clear sign conversation was closed. 

He only heard silence, no further protests. This time, thankfully, Yahaba had finally decided to give up. 

“I don’t hear you walking away from me,” Oikawa mentioned, voice light and cheerful. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Oikawa-san.” 

“How about this, I’ll train you as soon as you learn how to take no for a final answer,” Oikawa offered, watching Yahaba retreat through slitted eyes. 

“That isn’t going to happen,” Yahaba called back, raising a hand in farewell. 

Oikawa sighed loudly, closing his eyes, and chose not to answer. He’d had more than enough for one day. 

  
  


"Oikawa. A word." 

Oikawa heaved a sigh, cracking open his leaden eyelids. 

Iwaizumi stood over him, the despicable bundle wrapped in his arms, thankfully silent. Yawning, Oikawa stretched out his entire body at his leisure, watching with amusement as Iwaizumi's impatience swelled, foot tapping against stone.

"Yes?" Oikawa said eventually, after a good long stretch of seconds. 

"Stay with us," Iwaizumi stated starkly. “Me and the kid.”

Oikawa eyed him and the kid flatly, unimpressed. "Now, why, exactly, would I do that? I haven't been cooped up in this cave long enough to go that insane." 

"Because," Iwaizumi told him. "It's advantageous for both of us. I've been thinking-" 

"Don't do that. Not a good idea for you," Oikawa broke in swiftly. 

"-and it would be difficult for me to earn money and take care of a baby at the same time. I can't place him in any more danger. If you accompanied us, I'd work during the day, put food on the table, in return for caring for the heir and managing any diplomatic stuff. I can offer you protection, and a safe journey to wherever you want to go, since Breathers aren't too good in combat. In addition, you swore to protect the heir, didn't you? What sort of man breaks his word?" 

Oikawa couldn’t stop his surprise from seeping through, staring at Iwaizumi. 

He blinked, then looked down at his hands, twisting them around each other thoughtfully. Iwaizumi waited for his reply in silence. 

"A smart one," Oikawa grumped out, then sighed. "A smarter man than me, apparently." 

Iwaizumi's expression lifted, just slightly. "Good. Maybe you're not a complete ass. There's one more thing, though." 

Oikawa's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Two men travelling with a baby will draw suspicious-"

"Oh, no. My dignity is already at rock-bottom as it is." 

"You already look like a woman. It wouldn't require any great-"

"No. No, you got that? I am calling this deal off if you mention it again. I don't give a damn about strange looks. We'll make up a story or something."

“The people who attacked will be looking for the heir,” Iwaizumi countered. “We need to lay low and-”

“I said no, and I mean it,” Oikawa interrupted, folding his arms across his chest. “I go as I am, or not at all.” 

Iwaizumi stared him down, but Oikawa's returning glower was equally as stubborn and unmoving. Eventually, Iwaizumi heaved a sigh. “Fine. But don't blame me if we get spotted.” 

“Then why don't you dress up as a woman?” Oikawa snapped back, still moody. “You've got the-” 

He glanced quickly at Iwaizumi's body, his solid form, the assured way he held his broad frame, and huffed. 

“You've got the maternal instincts for the baby.” 

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “That's all you could come up with?” 

“It's not my fault you look masculine,” Oikawa retorted. 

“Think about it, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi urged him. “ You have a responsibility to the king.” 

“The dead king, in case you’ve forgotten.” 

“You owe him. He gave you a home for years, an entire library to yourself, and all he asked of you was to do your job and look after his kid.”

“And now he’s dead. Don’t push me, or I’ll change my mind,” Oikawa said. 

“Does loyalty mean nothing to you?” Iwaizumi demanded, eyes narrowing. “So far you’ve acted like a spoilt, privileged child with no regard for anyone else but yourself. There are more important things than selfish motives, if you can believe that.” 

Oikawa’s patience snapped. 

“Guess what, Mr. Righteous?” He spat out, eyes blazing, “There’s things more important than living your life enslaved to lofty ideas and imaginary rules on how to live. You don’t even care about that child, you’re only taking care of it because your morals say you have to.”

“So what do you suggest?” Iwaizumi asked him, irritatingly calm. “You’d leave the kid here to starve to death? Or would you have left it in the castle to be murdered?” 

“I-“ 

Words died in Oikawa’s throat. 

“I don’t like being obligated to do things,” was his lame response, sounding out loud weaker than they felt on his tongue. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi stated. “I can see that.” 

Oikawa pressed his lips together and looked away. He heard Iwaizumi quietly exhale.

“I’m leaving as soon as the snowstorm blows over,” Iwaizumi informed him. “You can come with us or not.” 

With that, Iwaizumi turned his back to Oikawa and walked back to his original spot. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 


	2. The Journey Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two bickering men with a target on their backs set off with a baby into the world. Nothing can go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Iwaizumi woke up first, the whole small of his back aching in quiet throbs with every movement. Scanning around the cave quickly, he stifled his sighs. Seems like he was the first up. Oikawa was still out cold nearby, arms drawn tightly into his chest as he slept on. The baby was thankfully still asleep, and Iwaizumi made sure to be as quiet as possible while creeping over to the few smouldering sparks left of the fire. 

He cast his gaze around for any dry pieces of wood to rekindle the flames, and spotted a small pile opposite Kuroo, Yahaba and Kyoutani, nearer to the entrance of the cave. Padding closer, he observed that the once blinding flurry of snow had faded away to a gentle sheen outside the entrance, enabling him to see a lot more than the previous arms-length like before. Good. He could move soon. 

He squinted, wondering if he could spot the castle’s imposing walls from here, or perhaps the massive hole in it. There was only the wasteland as far as the sky kissed the barren earth, but he reckoned that perhaps the little grey speck protruding from the top of one bare hill was the fallen castle. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he stepped out into the chill to gather up a few stray branches, knowing full well that he couldn’t stay here long with the heir. They’d be searching for him. It wasn’t as if his exit was as discreet as Oikawa’s cowardly one was. The survivors would be able to point out the exact direction he headed in too, and now that the snowstorm was softening…

Digging through the thick layer of snow, Iwaizumi straightened with an armful of sodden wood, scanning the area with a new intensity. Although he couldn’t perceive any group out there, the buzzing anxiety in his chest wouldn’t subside. Warily, he backed up into the cave, determined to leave as soon as the snow cleared. His forearms felt wet, and he realised that he’d been so preoccupied that it hadn’t clicked that damp wood is useless for fuel, nevermind cold, drenched wood. 

Focus. Iwaizumi crouched down, dropping the pile gently and noting a few stray branches opposite him, near where Kuroo, Kyoutani and Yahaba were sleeping. Kuroo’s back was against the wall, hunched over with his hood obscuring most of his face, only his chin visible, moving subtly up and down with his breathing. Kyoutani and Yahaba were beyond him, two heaps on the floor next to each other, and Iwaizumi could only distinguish between them because of the ashen blonde hair sticking out of one of the cloaks covering them. 

He approached cautiously, stooping down less than a metre away from them to collect the thankfully dry twigs, trying to minimise the grating against the ground. He managed to pick them up almost soundlessly, and straightened up, back to the thieves. 

“Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi turned. Kuroo’s dark eye stared back at him from a long face, shadowed by more than his disturbed hair. 

“Yes?”

“Why would Sawamura fake his own death?” 

Iwaizumi exhaled softly. “By telling you that he’s alive, I’ve already put him at risk. I can’t tell you any more.” 

He gestured to his left arm. “Physically, too.” 

Kuroo regarded him with his black gaze for a moment. “You’re lucky you had that scar. Otherwise I wouldn’t have even considered that maybe you were telling the truth.” 

“It’s gotten me out of more than a few tight spots,” Iwaizumi admitted. 

Kuroo’s gaze drifted beyond him. “I can see why.”

An ending sentence. Iwaizumi bent down and gathered up some pieces of wood and left. As he squatted by the fire to pile on new bits, he felt new eyes on him. More intense, focused, almost predator-like. He glanced up to see Kyoutani sitting up, watching him closely, and lifted a hand. 

“Glad to see you’re feeling better today.”

Kyoutani grunted and looked away. Iwaizumi took that as a positive response, and resumed work on the fire. Within a few minutes, he had a softly smouldering hearth in front of him - nothing impressive, but it would do the job. Iwaizumi glanced back over to the heir, thanking the gods that he was a good few months old - eight at least - so he’d settled into a somewhat okay sleeping pattern, and able to eat solid food. Despite Iwaizumi’s best intentions, he still couldn’t produce milk, no matter how hard he could try. 

To his dismay, he saw the curled-up pile of clothes that was Oikawa stir, perhaps in response to the new heat of the fire. Not to say he hoped that he froze to death in the night...just that he wouldn’t mind. He looked away in case he accidentally made eye contact, but it made little difference.

He heard more rustling, and prodded the fire, trying to remove the distraction from his mind.

“Hey, Iwa-chan!” came a call that grated against Iwaizumi’s bones. The “cute” nickname was at odds with every fibre of his being. 

“What?” He responded rather abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest as Oikawa gestured him over - or rather, tried to. Iwaizumi didn’t budge an inch, and after a few seconds Oikawa rolled his eyes and waltzed over to him. 

“Is it too much to ask that you walk a few steps?” 

“For you, yes.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi saw Yahaba approaching with fire in his gait. 

“Oikawa-san!” 

Oikawa examined his nails. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” 

“Did you reconsider? I can be useful, I’ll more than carry my own weight if that’s what you’re afraid about. I’m used to travelling long distances, and I won’t slow you down at all-“

“By the gods, do you ever shut up?” Oikawa interjected. “I said no, I have my reasons, so why are you here speaking to me?” 

“What are those reasons?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe something to do with the fact how you threatened to shoot me?”

“I didn’t realise who you were!”

“So if I was anyone else it would’ve been okay? That’s not an ideal attitude for someone wanting to become a healer.” 

Iwaizumi watched Yahaba bite hard down on his lower lip, clearly anxious. However, he still pressed on. Iwaizumi had to respect his grit. 

“Oikawa-sama, I really, really need your tutoring. I can heal an injured lizard already, but nothing larger yet.”

“Well, aren’t you useful?” Oikawa drawled out. “I would absolutely _love_ to have you on my team. I’ve lost count of how many poor pet lizards I’ve had to let die because nobody could heal them.” 

Yahaba flushed pink. “I - This is why I need you to teach me! I’ve never encountered a master before, and especially not one of your caliber.” 

“Hmm. Good try at flattery, but I’m afraid it’s still a no,” Oikawa dismissed him airily. “Now run along, the adults have to talk. Go play nicely with your foreign friend there. You know, the one whose life I saved.” 

Yahaba’s embarrassed blush spread down to his neck, tinging his ears, but he must’ve realised that any other pleads would just make Oikawa say worse. Swallowing, he dipped his hand forwards in a gesture of respect before backing away hastily. 

Iwaizumi watched him go with a well of pity at the bottom of his chest. “Don’t you think you’re too cruel to him?” 

“Hmph,” Oikawa sniffed out, rolling his shoulders back proudly. “Everyone else was just too nice to him. Being a rare, precious duogenus doesn't matter to me. He’s got to learn about people like me eventually.” 

Iwaizumi sighed. “Look, what did you want to talk about?” 

“I’m coming with you,” Oikawa told him.

“You make it sound like you’re doing me a favour.”

“We’re both doing each other a favour. Mutual benefit and all that shit, right? Gods, we are going to make _such_ a great team!” Oikawa beamed out to Iwaizumi’s flat expression.

“As long as you don’t slow me down, we’ll get along fine.” Iwaizumi stated. 

“Do you ever show any emotion at all?” Oikawa complained. “All I’ve seen is anger and scorn. You’ve got the emotional range of a rock. It's going to be so dull travelling with you if you're always like this. Look, I’m trying to be friendly, patch things up here and I might as well be talking to the cave wall.” 

“Great,” Iwaizumi deadpanned. “So you won’t mind if I leave. Say hi to the cave wall for me.” 

“Aha! That was an attempt at humour, wasn’t it? I didn’t think rocks could try to joke.” 

Iwaizumi turned his back to Oikawa and walked away. He heard Oikawa’s huff of disapproval and chose to ignore it. Sighing underneath his breath, Iwaizumi hoped he had made the right choice for the child. 

He could feel the disdain in Oikawa’s eyes and prayed for patience. It didn’t matter what Oikawa thought of him. As soon as Iwaizumi stopped and stooped down by the child, Oikawa bounced up right beside him again.

Iwaizumi took a breath. 

“So what do you plan to do?” Oikawa asked.

“Head for the nearest boundary of the kingdom, get out as quickly as possible before they manage to recover from the snowstorm. That’s the nearest border of Eurus,” Iwaizumi replied, gesturing to the west. “Then find a village willing to shelter us for a couple of nights while I collect food and some money, and then back to getting as far away as possible with the heir.”

Oikawa blinked. “Oh.” 

“Did you not expect me to have a plan?”

“No. I expected that mine would be better.”

“What’s yours? Kill the baby as fast as possible?”

“What do you see me as? I wouldn’t kill it. I’d drop it off at the nearest village and let it become their problem.” 

“Do you have any sense of responsibility at all?”

“Haven’t we been over this already?” Oikawa flicked his eyes up the cave ceiling, feigning a yawn. “I clearly don’t.”

Iwaizumi didn’t have enough energy in him to continue the conversation. Being around Oikawa exhausted him. So he gently gathered up the child and began to walk towards his things, leaving Oikawa to catch up. Which he did annoyingly fast, only having to lengthen two of his strides to be once again by Iwaizumi’s side. 

“When are we leaving?” Oikawa asked airily. 

“As soon as I pack everything away,” Iwaizumi answered shortly. “I suggest you do the same. I’m leaving whenever I’m ready and if you’re not you’ll have to catch up.” 

“Aren’t you just the loveliest man alive,” Oikawa commented dryly, but he finally moved away. 

Iwaizumi was conscious of the bandit corner stirring, of Kuroo’s frequent warning glares, letting him know exactly just how willing he still was to kill him, given any little piece of evidence to disprove Iwaizumi’s story. Fair. He’d be the same way. Iwaizumi acknowledged him with a nod. Kuroo winked back, a wry smile curling around his lips. 

Kyoutani was weak, Iwaizumi could sense that much, with the struggling, dragging sounds of his legs across the stony floor, interspaced with Yahaba’s lowered voice. Iwaizumi wondered where they were going to go after this - if they could make it there. Kuroo didn’t seem the type to slow down for others. 

Stuffing away the last of his meager belongings, Iwaizumi swung the bag up onto his back and glanced over at Oikawa. 

“Are you using that?”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

“That cloak by your left hand.”

Oikawa held it up. “This? I just brought this in case I got blood on my nice cloak.” 

“Can I have it?”

“Why?”

“Why are you asking me that if you don’t need it?”

“I might!”

Iwaizumi sighed, gesturing over to the napping child. “I want to make a sling for him so I don’t have to carry him in my arms all the time. Can I have the cloak now?”

“I don’t see how that benefits me.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said warningly, his voice dropping. 

“I don’t see what your cave man excuse for a brain thinks saying my name in a slightly threatening tone will achieve,” Oikawa responded far too brightly. It pissed Iwaizumi off. 

Iwaizumi marched forwards a step and snatched it from Oikawa’s hand with no resistance. 

“Oh, silent violence!” Oikawa quipped. “What a fantastic way to win an argument with an intellectually superior being.” 

Ignoring him, Iwaizumi dropped his bag and began draping the cloak around his torso. He could feel Oikawa’s eyes watching him closely, a question in his gaze. As Iwaizumi knelt to pick up the heir and gently placed him into the wrappings, leaning against his chest, he answered for Oikawa.

“I was taught this because it’s a useful life skill.”

“Excuse you, I didn’t say anything,” Oikawa turned his face away. “I said nothing about how odd it is for a childless almost middle-aged man to know how to make a baby sling thingy.”

The heir shifted against Iwaizumi’s chest, woozily moving its exposed legs in midair. Iwaizumi picked up his bag again. 

“We’re leaving.”

He trudged towards the cave exit. To his right, Yahaba and Kuroo were crouched near Kyoutani, assessing his strength. Iwaizumi knew that Breathing sometimes failed, or the person’s body occasionally doesn’t react well with the individual Breath, but Kyoutani’s eyes were far too bright and alert, tracking Iwaizumi’s steps sharply, to be still injured. The intensity of his glare drew Iwaizumi’s mind back to the time he hacked his way through the Tulkia forest, heard a noise, and looked up to see wild eyes observing him. 

Yahaba met his eyes briefly, and nodded. Iwaizumi nodded back. From the barely concealed sneer on his mouth, Kuroo knew he was there - he just chose to ignore Iwaizumi, which he was honestly fine with. 

Reaching the entrance, Iwaizumi didn’t stop, and heard hasty scrambling behind him, accompanied by a panicked “Wait!” a second later. Turning around, Iwaizumi held in a sigh, watching Oikawa throw his cloak around his neck, not bothering to fasten it, instead grabbing the ends with one hand and his bag with the other.

"I thought you were going to leave without me!" Oikawa protested as he hurried up to Iwaizumi. 

"I should've," Iwaizumi responded flatly. 

"You were the one who asked to team up with me!"

Iwaizumi's gaze drifted past Oikawa, entangling with Kuroo's black eye.

“I’ll see you around,” came Kuroo’s voice, somehow balancing the line between casual and threatening. 

Iwaizumi inclined his head. “I’ll be waiting.” 

Before stepping outside, Iwaizumi lay a hand on the cave wall and took a moment to silently thank The Lady for the shelter. It had ensured the heir’s survival in a snowstorm, and for that Iwaizumi was grateful. 

Oikawa, waiting outside, luckily wasn’t paying attention to him until he tread outside.

“You rush me, and then you stop,” he accused, eyes flickering over Iwaizumi, sharp and annoyed. 

Well, off on a great foot already. 

“Sorry you’re not being waited on like usual,” Iwaizumi answered back half-hazily. 

Oikawa shot him a haughty, high-browed glower that only served to strengthen Iwaizumi's statement. "Maybe you should be waiting on me. Do I have to keep reminding you that this was your idea?" 

"You accepted. If you aren't happy leave," Iwaizumi told him, gaze gliding past him. "But you won't, because you're going to be hunted down either way, and you know full well that you'd be a lot better off with me." 

Oikawa, for once, held his tongue. When Iwaizumi glanced back at him, his lips were pressed thin, but he offered no defence. 

“I can still make this partnership difficult," he said, void of any expression. "Your journey will be much easier with me around, and you know that."

"Is that a threat?" Iwaizumi asked, raising his eyebrows, scanning Oikawa's straight face. 

In an instant, Oikawa's expression changed completely, lifting the corners of his mouth and his eyebrows to chirp out, "Only if you think it is! Now, shall we stop wasting time?"

Oikawa flounced away, and Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes at his back. He'd have to learn how to read Oikawa's real thoughts quickly, or his warning might turn out to be real. Starting after Oikawa, he exhaled heavily. He didn't like enigmas. 

Something in motion caught the edge of his peripheral, and Iwaizumi hesitated, staring at the distant castle. “I guess we know who attacked now.”

Following his gaze, Iwaizumi heard Oikawa suck in a quick intake of breath. Aecus’ flag, black with a white stripe emblazoned horizontally across it messily, whipped around proudly above the castle. It looked wrong. 

“Last I heard about their pathetic little gatherings was that they couldn’t make it through the Northern Dunes. Since when were they strong enough to attack Katachi?” Oikawa wondered, eyes sharpening.

“They weren’t,” Iwaizumi answered, and commenced walking again. “Not alone.” 

Oikawa squinted harder, trying to focus on another distant colour, this time being painted across the main middle tower. “They don’t have red in their flag, do they?” 

Iwaizumi spared a glance towards the castle, then shook his head. “We don’t have time to speculate on who helped them now. They’ll be looking for the heir. Come on.” 

“We could elude them better if we knew who we’re up against,” Oikawa argued, his voice thankfully fading. It made Iwaizumi want to speed up. “You don’t happen to have a sere on you?” 

Now a good distance ahead, Iwaizumi didn’t even slow down. “No.” 

He heard an exasperated sigh behind him and then a few quick, bounding steps, and Oikawa was beside him again. 

"You're making me regret my decision even faster than I thought," Oikawa said lightly.

"Don't say anything and we'll get along fine," Iwaizumi told him.

Oikawa somehow managed to be silent, and yet sound like he was sulking. Iwaizumi tried his best to ignore him and fixate on finalising a plan. Get through the forest quickly, pass over the border to Eurus, find the mountain village of Bunt and lay low. It wasn't one of his finest plans, even he could admit that much, but it was a start. 

It seemed that Oikawa had sunk into his own thoughts, so Iwaizumi listened to the quiet whistling of the wind over the grasslands, rapidly clearing of snow. The blades of grass were drinking the frozen water down, and Iwaizumi thought that if he concentrated on one enough, he could see the little holes in the sides leaning towards the powder and chewing it down.

After a while, Oikawa spoke up. Thankfully, it wasn't to start an argument. 

“Where are we going?”

“Over there, where the trees are unfolding." Iwaizumi gestured towards the left, towards the grove of trees. "It'll be at least a week's journey through the forest."

Iwaizumi saw Oikawa’s mouth twitch into a soft smile, and he didn’t blame him. Dragging his eyes back to the path ahead, he had to admit that the sight of the soft grey branches gradually unwinding from around the main trunk was graceful. It was almost like wind dissipating clouds, spreading them out to cover the sky. After the branches were in place, the light green leaves would emerge out of each individual twig, opening to greet the light after the suffocation of the storm. It was a scene Iwaizumi never tired of. 

It even lifted his mood a little. From Oikawa's silence, it seemed to do the same to him. Out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. 

"It's been so long since I was outside the castle walls," Oikawa commented. "It feels nice to experience nature again. Even with you here."

"I'd enjoy it more if you could stop insulting me every time you open your mouth," Iwaizumi mentioned. "We're partners now, and we have to get used to each other, so it's unnecessary."

"Well then, you'd better get used to me insulting you," Oikawa responded cheerfully, flashing Iwaizumi a smile far too stiff and wide to be anything but fake. 

Rubbing a hand over his face, Iwaizumi sighed, a deep sigh he could really feel in his stomach. It might have been a sigh of the utmost regret. He wasn't great with words. Which was part of the reason he asked Oikawa to join him in the first place, but for those words to cause unneeded friction was just childish. Inhaling, Iwaizumi levelled himself. Oikawa wasn't worth the irritation he felt - not over the half-witted jabs, but over the sheer… pointlessness. 

Oikawa tread a little closer to him, an odd sort of satisfied smirk on his lips as he peered at Iwaizumi with laughing hazel eyes. "You aren't getting angry over those comments, are you? Really? I was just joking! You don't have a sense of humour at all, do you?"

He accompanied his spiel with a light elbow into Iwaizumi's arm. Iwaizumi instantly hit back, shooting out his elbow and digging into Oikawa's arm twice as hard. 

"Ow!" Oikawa sulked, withdrawing and covering his upper arm with his palm. "Now that was unnecessary."

"It got you away from me, didn't it?"

"You're mean," Oikawa complained, dropping his hand. 

"You attacked me first."

"Gently! Not with a force large enough to knock someone out!"

Iwaizumi let out a sharp laugh. "You think that was enough to knock someone out?"

"Yes! My arm's going numb," Oikawa pouted.

"Stop bullshitting. You're fine."

"Hmph. As if you know that."

Oikawa upturned his nose as Iwaizumi said nothing, his gaze travelling to Oikawa's arm again. 

After a few moments, Iwaizumi nudged Oikawa carefully with his elbow. "You aren't actually hurt, are you?"

Iwaizumi might've been hallucinating, but he thought he saw a flutter of amusement cross Oikawa's face. 

"Aw, you really believed that I'm that fragile? I'm not sure whether to be flattered or offended!" Oikawa almost sang the words, which made Iwaizumi regret he even asked.

"Forget it," he muttered, averting his gaze. 

"Really though, I did not think there was enough room for empathy in your teeny-weeny -"

"I said forget it."

"Or what? You'll barely tap me again and then feel instantly guilty? I feel so threatened."

Out of the side of his eye, Iwaizumi caught Oikawa's gaze - and yes, there definitely was far too much glee on his face, mouth stretched far too wide.

"Next time, it'll hurt a lot more and I won't feel guilty," Iwaizumi said. "Because you'll have deserved it."

Oikawa laughed. "I'm faultless, there's no way I'd deserve such a mediocre threatening."

Iwaizumi decided maybe letting it go would be the merciful option for his own sanity. 

They trekked on through the opening trees, thankfully in silence. The ground threw up smoke with every footstep, something that made Iwaizumi wary, despite the cocoons unfurling around them, glinting in the new light. He glanced downwards and his boots were almost completely coated in rough spores, clinging to the fabric tirelessly, dark brown coating thickly over each other. He might've seen them crawl. He hoped not. 

Silence. Oikawa felt disquieted. The leaves weren’t falling fast enough for his liking. Iwaizumi’s footfalls weren’t heavy enough on the damp soil. The dense ridges on either side were too tall, the grey trees too imposing. His gut didn’t like it here either - it cried out gently with every silent second passing, reaching up and tugging on Oikawa’s windpipe to stop, turn back. 

Oikawa glanced across to Iwaizumi, whose brow was pulled down low, but his eyes were trained straight ahead. There was a sort of compact intensity about the way he held himself, a tenseness in his arms, one hand resting unnaturally close to his sword hilt. Gaze travelling to the slumbering baby in the sling across his chest, Oikawa realised just how helpless infants are. It was a miracle any human survived past a month, really. Babies were idiots. 

Having comforted himself by the knowledge that he wasn’t an idiot, Oikawa returned to scanning the dull path ahead of them, attempting to peer past every boulder and bush. He suddenly wished he had a more intimidating weapon than the small dagger slipped up his sleeve. He made a mental note to get a very sharp very shiny sword like Iwaizumi’s someday - then at least he could bluff that he knew how to use it. 

A short rustling in a bush to their left. Iwaizumi’s sword was out and pointed at the offending sound in an instant. Oikawa had sprung away, instinctively sheltering behind Iwaizumi’s bulk. In the next second, a bird hopped out into the open and quickly pattered away from them, spooked. Oikawa’s gaze drifted over to Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi’s eyes crinkled up in mutual amusement. 

In that shared moment of relief, they attacked. 

“Take the heir!” Iwaizumi hissed out, hastily removing the baby from his sling and thrusting him into Oikawa’s arms. 

The demon woke from the sudden movement, and started roaring his head off as Oikawa gathered him into the crook of his arm, backing away. Iwaizumi unsheathed his greatsword and stared down the charging group of ambushers, waiting for them to come to him. 

Oikawa attempted to duck underneath a swinging club to get clear of the incoming battle, but the foremost members were followed up by more, and he found himself in an ever-increasing circle of chaos. Slipping out his dagger into the palm of his free hand, he rose and sliced across an enemy’s throat, taking note of their clothes. Plain, dark tones, the most unflattering and drab cuts available. Dried liquid on the collar - wine? Or something else - Oikawa got a whiff of it as he went down. Ale. Cheaper than any other alcohol. 

He heard the clanging of blades behind him and knew Iwaizumi was holding his own. Spinning around, Oikawa took a flashing glance of their situation. Iwaizumi was keeping three at bay and another three were rapidly approaching Oikawa. Cursing softly, Oikawa crouched down and pulled a short sword from the hands of his fallen opponent. His eyes strayed past the trio for an instant, tracking Iwaizumi’s movements. 

Oikawa had only seen him fight Kuroo before, and watching him now, he realised just how highly skilled both Iwaizumi and Kuroo must be. Iwaizumi parried these opponents gracefully, his sword rising and slashing in time to a beat only he could hear. Oikawa’s sharp eyes wouldn’t pin his victories as effortless, but Iwaizumi seemed to know what action his adversary would take, and counter it within a split second.

A blade cut towards him, and Oikawa parried clumsily, clasping the child closer to his chest. The man made a grab for the baby, and Oikawa dodged his attempt, realising he was only still alive because they needed the child. Backing up as fast as he could, Oikawa tried to use his best asset. 

“I can negotiate with you gentlemen, if you’re willing to lower your weapons for -“ 

He was answered by a blow swinging dangerously close to his chest, slicing a slit in his cloak just above his shoulder. 

“Careful of the kid!” One snapped at the one who had attacked, who shrugged it off. 

“He’s alright, isn’t he? I won’t hurt the kid, okay? But the healer’s fair game, right?” 

“Aye.” 

He backed away as fast as he could, levelling the attackers with a stony glare. They immediately began laughing. 

"What, look at him! He's looking at us as if he can take us on."

"Ha! Just hand over the kid and we might grant you a quick death."

Oikawa held the heir even tighter to his chest, which only made it cry harder.

"Shut up, _ikol_ ," Oikawa hissed, which didn't help matters at all. 

His eyes darted past the approaching men and locked onto Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi wasn’t thinking. He was allowing his instincts to flow through his limbs and control them, gaze flashing from one minute movement to the next and interpreting them within an instant. Elbow up - sword will twist to the right, block and carve upwards - now - 

“Iwa-chan!” 

He spun around instantly at the sound of Oikawa’s cry, saw him being confronted by three men, and cursed. 

“Can’t you take care of them yourself? I’ll be busy for a bit longer,” he called back, staring at the two attackers still standing, circling around him. 

“You heartless bastard!” was the returning cry, and Iwaizumi fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

One lunged at him, and Iwaizumi sidestepped, sinking his sword halfway to the hilt into his waist, just underneath his ribs. With a cry, the other swung his axe at him, and Iwaizumi had to let go and tumble out of the way, coming up so that the injured was between him and his mate. 

He spat some quite colourful language at Iwaizumi, who drew a pathetically small dagger from his boot. 

Dodging another swipe of the axe, he darted close to the one with the sword embedded in him still - standing, but not for long. They tried to stab him, but he was too close and too far behind him, and Iwaizumi plunged the knife through the side of their neck easily. Blood splattered all over his hand, and he had to jump away as the axe dropped into the ground right in front of his toes. 

Iwaizumi met axe man's gleeful eyes, his bare hands aching, the lack of a hilt becoming painfully aware. Backing away, Iwaizumi kept eye contact, until the axe man got impatient and tried to hack at Iwaizumi's neck. Sidestepping, Iwaizumi slammed his shoulder into him, knocking him aside. In the second of his temporary unbalance, Iwaizumi managed to manoeuvre near the other. 

His fingertips skimmed the hilt of his sword embedded deeply in his torso, but before he could grasp it, pain exploded through his ribs, and he was driven to the ground. 

“You’re not killing any more of my men. My deepest apologies.” 

Struggling to breathe, Iwaizumi began to clamber to his feet when another kick to the chest sent him back into the dirt. Glancing up, he saw the axe man approaching, hefting the weapon in his hands eagerly. 

“Boss, let me kill him. He murdered Reiko.” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes flicked in panic to the man standing beside him, who was stroking his beard. 

“Wait. Don’t kill him yet.” 

“No killing.” The axe man raised the wooden hilt of his axe and thrust it towards Iwaizumi, who caught it in his hands before it could make contact. The man yanked it backwards, and Iwaizumi almost ended up with a mouthful of dirt. 

“I’d advise you to stop resisting,” the boss told him as he raised his head. “You’re not who we’re here for.” 

Gritting his teeth, Iwaizumi lifted his hands and placed them on his head. The damp soil felt sticky on his knees. He looked over to Oikawa, who was… okay? He stood just beyond three bandits, all of them flat on the ground, heir clutched to his chest. 

“Hey,” the leader called over. “Come here.” 

In response, Oikawa spat on one of the groaning bodies. 

The leader nodded at axe man, who swung the axe handle straight into Iwaizumi’s stomach. Iwaizumi crumpled in half, arms wrapped around his stomach, gasping for air, trying to work up the breath to yell at Oikawa to run, to leave him and protect the heir. 

“Come here or we kill him.” 

Iwaizumi dragged up his head and shook it at Oikawa, which earned him another kick in the side. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and prayed that Oikawa knew better than to comply with bandits, or whoever these bastards were. 

“Stop! I’m coming over.” 

Fucking moron. 

Iwaizumi was seized by his hair, head forced backwards as knife perched by his throat. He watched, eyes narrowing, as Oikawa walked over slowly, the child still upset and screaming in his arms. 

“Very good. Now, hand over the child.” 

Iwaizumi glowered at him warningly, and Oikawa didn’t move. 

“May I suggest an alternative arrangement?” Oikawa asked, giving him a confident smile. “You’ve been paid to collect a screaming baby, right?”

“Hand it over or he dies. Now.”

Iwaizumi felt the edge of the dagger dig into his flesh, and he sucked in a rapid breath. Oikawa must’ve seen the panic in his face, because he dropped the smile, voice coming out more urgent. 

“I can offer you more money - and this is guaranteed. What’s to say you won’t get screwed over once you go to collect your payment? I can give you something much more valuable for much less effort.” 

Oikawa’s hand crept towards his chest. 

“If you even attempt to draw a weapon, he dies,” the leader threatened. “I should kill him right now for murdering my men.” 

“I’m not,” Oikawa reassured him, voice regaining confidence. He reached underneath his cloak and grappled with something for a few seconds, then held out his closed fist. 

“Here.” 

Oikawa unfurled his fingers, and in his hand was a round brooch, almost the size of his palm, shining a dull gold. Around the edges, a ring of small rubies were embedded, glowing in the sunlight. Silver wire snaked in between them, the image of decadence. 

“Look, this is worth more than whatever your boss is going to pay you, and it’s less effort too. Take it, walk away, sell it. Easy money.” 

Sharp eyes squinted back at him, but the knife at Iwaizumi’s neck hesitated, pulling back a fraction. Iwaizumi eyed his grounded sword, considering diving for it, but then he glanced back up at Oikawa, whose dark eyes were warning him to stay put. 

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw shut, and gave Oikawa a tiny nod. Inhaling, Oikawa’s gaze swung back to fully focus on the leader. He took a step forward. 

“Take it.” 

“Why don’t I kill you both and take the brooch for myself as well as the kid? That sounds good to me.” 

Iwaizumi stiffened, heartbeat racing. His eyes stuck on his sword, still in the nearby corpse. 

Oikawa’s eyes glinted. “Because you don’t have the numbers left to take me down and you know it. Otherwise you’d do that instead of explaining it to me. Why risk what you have left for an unpredictable reward?” 

Even Iwaizumi almost believed that bluff. If he hadn’t witnessed how useless Oikawa was in battle a few minutes before, he would’ve completely been fooled by his hardened glare. Iwaizumi’s heartbeat hardened. Oikawa was risking everything on the assumption that the leader hadn’t witnessed Oikawa’s shitty display of strength earlier. Then again, he had done...something to incapacitate three men. 

Maybe he wasn’t bluffing. 

The leader took a couple of seconds to survey Oikawa, attempting to calculate the amount of truth in his words. Oikawa didn’t flinch, staring readily with his hand out, offering. 

“Alright. You come over here and give it to me.”

The leader beckoned Oikawa forwards, and Oikawa didn’t move an inch.

“Iwa-chan steps away first,” he told the leader, who looked confused for a second before it dawned on him that the cute nickname must apply to the man he had a knife prepared to slit his throat, the man who had just murdered or grievously injured most of his men. 

“No. You come over here and then I’ll let him go.” He moved the blade, and Iwaizumi hissed out a breath between his teeth, feeling the abrupt, gentle trickle of blood dribble down his skin. 

Oikawa didn’t hesitate. He threw the brooch into the dirt by the Iwaizumi’s knees, raising his voice. “You have it now. Let him go.”

The sharp point of pressure on Iwaizumi’s skin didn’t waver. “You, Iwa-chan, get it.”

Iwaizumi obediently bent down to scoop it up, but not before sending a deathly glower Oikawa’s way. Eyeing his sword, he wished he could jerk away without having the blade dig halfway through his spine, but all of his senses were telling him that the knife would move a lot faster than his body. So he simply straightened up, feeling his blood trickle down his collarbone, and held his open palm out to the side. 

The brooch was snatched from his palm by cold fingers, followed by a beat of silence even Oikawa didn’t dare fill. 

Suddenly, the knife was gone, and Iwaizumi instantly rolled away to the side, rescuing his fallen sword as he came up into a crouch. 

The leader looked down at him, almost out of pity, and brandished a hand in the air. “Time to go.”

Those still able to walk helped up those who couldn’t, sending glowers Iwaizumi’s way, who slowly backed up, knuckles white around his sword hilt. Iwaizumi backed up slowly, never taking his eyes away from the leader. 

Neither said a word until every member was out of sight. 

“It...worked?” Iwaizumi’s jaw could barely form the words. 

Oikawa blinked, stunned, eyes wide. “It...worked.”

Then he cleared his throat, a self-assured smile settling onto his lips. “Of course it worked. I am the former king’s chief diplomat, after all. I never doubted my plan for a moment.”

“Thank The Lady and the gods,” Iwaizumi murmured underneath his breath, finally letting his chest relax and expand fully. 

Oikawa shot him a cynical side-eye. “You pray to The Lady?” 

Iwaizumi nodded. “Some of us don’t have a god complex.” 

“It’s not a complex,” Oikawa defended himself. “I am a god.”

Iwaizumi sighed, turning away from him and trudging forwards. 

“You’re welcome. We wouldn’t have gotten out of that mess if not for me. Aren’t I god-like?”

“No. I thought you were going to run away.” 

“I did consider that,” Oikawa admitted. “Your life means nothing to me, but I’d be stuck with this baby on my own, and what sort of sad fate is that? You’re welcome.” 

Iwaizumi dabbed at the wound on his neck. It stung, but it was shallow enough that he knew it'd heal on its own, no dressing needed. “By the way, what did you do to those men?” 

Oikawa smirked at him. “They knew they couldn’t take me on, so they surrendered.” 

“Yeah, right. And I have six legs.” Iwaizumi brought down his hand, wiping the spots of blood in his cloak. "You're not as defenceless as you let on, are you?"

He scanned the ravine, just in case the mercenaries were waiting for them, ready to claim both rewards. But he saw nothing, and he doubted they would try another ambush with two men. His instincts told him that they were safe. 

"You're not telling me anything, so why should I tell you anything?" Oikawa sniffed, trailing after Iwaizumi. "I think I'll stay mysterious and unknowable."

"Suit yourself." Iwaizumi turned to Oikawa, gesturing at the sleeping baby. "Let me take him."

Oikawa handed him over without complaint. "I know it's because you don't trust me with him, but now he's your burden to bear."

As Iwaizumi fixed the heir carefully into his sling, he felt Oikawa's gaze linger on him, and he glanced up sharply. "What is it now?"

“What is that?” Oikawa asked, gesturing vaguely at Iwaizumi’s arm. 

“It’s an arm.”

Iwaizumi started hiking up the side of the ravine, to where he thought he recalled the easiest entrance to the woodland was. He heard Oikawa's quick footsteps, and then he appeared at his side.

“I know what an arm looks like! It’s not as if yours is that horribly disfigured. I meant the mark.”

“It’s a scar.”

“And it means that…?” Oikawa prompted. “I didn’t think I’d have to guide you along this much after a simple question.” 

“It means that some people know what it means and some don’t.”

“I can’t walk with you anymore,” Oikawa declared, stopping dead in his tracks.

Iwaizumi barely turned, throwing his eyes up to the heavens. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic! You’re being a dickhead.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t tell you anything about it,” Iwaizumi sighed out. 

Oikawa’s eyes lit up. “Ah! So it’s a secret society thing! A secret society that Dacchi -“

“Daichi.”

“-is part of too! Or was, if he’s actually dead and you murdered him.” 

Iwaizumi sensed Oikawa watching his every twitch carefully, searching for any hints. 

“Why do you care? It’s nothing to do with you, and as you always say, you don’t care about something unless it benefits you.”

“Knowledge always does,” Oikawa answered simply. “I don’t know whether one day I’ll be up against this Dacko man or the secret society of scarred men, so I’d like to know their weaknesses now rather than later.” 

“Trust me, you’ll never be enough to even catch their attention,” Iwaizumi assured him. “Now walk, we don’t have time for delays.” 

“A two trok talk won’t matter!” Oikawa protested. “Nobody’s following us. I would’ve sensed them by now.” 

Giving him a flat look, Iwaizumi shook his head. “You obviously haven’t been tracked before. There’s someone or several someones following us - or our trail. I don’t think they’re close enough to visually follow us, but they’re definitely doing it somehow.”

“How can you tell, Mr. Hunter Extraordinaire?” Oikawa said, a mocking gleam in his eyes. 

“I just can.” 

“Well, that just makes me believe you even more! Why didn't you say that sooner?” 

“You can smell if someone’s wounded, and you don’t believe when I say I can sense if there’s someone following me.”

“Did you miss the part where I’m a highly trained Breather and you’re not?” Oikawa arched his eyebrows. "I've honed my skills my entire life and all you can do is lose control and crack some cave walls."

Silenced for a single beat, Iwaizumi chewed on the inside of his lip. “You know -” beginning hesitantly, he lowered his voice to a whisper, so much so Oikawa had to lean in, “-I have… you know. Magic. Sometimes I can just tell things, alright? And this is one of those times. We need to get moving.”

Oikawa’s eyes narrowed momentarily. Stepping forwards, Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa by the arm, ignoring the surprised parting of his lips. Before he could get some smart comment out, Iwaizumi spoke. 

“Will you trust me on this? Just once, will you not argue with me and waste what little daylight we have left?”

Iwaizumi traced Oikawa’s gaze up to the husky, fogged sky, weighed down by the last straggling beams of sunlight being dragged down into the horizon by the night.

Returning his steady gaze to Iwaizumi’s, Oikawa waited a beat, and for a second Iwaizumi thought he wasn’t going to give. Oikawa shook his arm free of Iwaizumi’s grasp, breaking eye contact to roll his eyes.

“I suppose since you’re begging me, I can’t really refuse without appearing heartless, can I?”

“That never bothered you before,” Iwaizumi muttered, careful for it to be underneath his breath. 

Oikawa's clear, attentive eyes strayed down Iwaizumi's face. “What was that?”

“I said I wasn’t begging. Now walk.”

Underneath the quietness of the sun’s death, they hiked onwards. 

The next morning, they awoke to a thundering. 

The rain flew down into the ground with a vengeance, cascading clunkily from the clouds, as if each droplet was a lead weight. The leaves drooped low, the branches were bending to the sodden earth, and Oikawa was scowling viciously at the sky, as if his displeasure could change the weather. 

Iwaizumi let out a snort, and Oikawa’s glare whipped towards him.

“I don’t find it funny that we’ve to trek a whole day in this abysmal weather,” Oikawa snapped, and the underlying whine in his voice almost made Iwaizumi snort again. 

“I wasn't laughing at the weather,” he said, not quite able to keep a smile from his lips. “You really have led a sheltered life.”

Oikawa’s scowl deepened. “You’re a mean _ikol_.”

“It isn’t insulting if I don’t know what it means.”

“You’re a sadist, but worse. You’d go out of your way to make people suffer, which is what you’re doing right now.”

“I can’t control the weather,” Iwaizumi shrugged. “It’s a void insult.” 

“You can control whether you laugh at me or not!”

“No, I don’t think I can.”

“ _Ikol._ ”

“Got me.”

Oikawa stared at him a moment, mouth pulled downwards. “I’m going to go out into that rain now,” he proclaimed. “I’d rather drown than continue this meaningless conversation with you.” 

With a huff, Oikawa gathered up his things, yanked his hood low over his face, and exited the shelter of the densely-packed leaves woven above into the rainstorm. Iwaizumi secured the heir in his sling and trailed after him, wrapping his cloak fully around his front. Hopefully the darkness wouldn't suffocate the infant. If the alternative was the child screaming because he was wet, Iwaizumi was willing to take the chance. He already had one to deal with.

Sure enough, less than three troks later, Oikawa refused to tolerate the conditions any longer. 

“This is torture,” Oikawa whined, pulling his hood down as far as he possibly could. “I might as well have thrown myself in a bog and lived there for a whole moon cycle.” 

“You’ll get used to it,” Iwaizumi told him. “We have to move. Maybe there’ll be a place to stay at the next village.” 

“How far is that?”

Iwaizumi glanced around him, recalling his surroundings. “About eight hours away.”

“What?! I’m not walking that long in the rain,” Oikawa declared, walking over to a large tree trunk. “We’re waiting until this passes. You don’t want the heir getting a cold, do you?” 

Iwaizumi surveyed the tree, observing how wet the brown leaves were at the base. “That’s not going to give you much shelter.” 

Oikawa turned around to smirk at him. 

“Watch and learn, Iwa-chan.”

“Watch wha-“

Iwaizumi let his question fizzle out on his tongue. The tree was growing before his eyes, as if time had crushed itself together for this single plant, elongating every leaf, every branch. The leaves drooped lower with the weight of the rainwater toppling off of the ends, but the ends were all beyond Iwaizumi and Oikawa now, the base of the tree completely clear of any droplets. 

“See?” Oikawa asked proudly. “I’m useful for more than healing people.” 

“You did that with your Breath?” Iwaizumi questioned, his gaze tracing the fresh leaves, coloured ivy green. He could almost feel the remnants of Oikawa’s magic beating along the vessels of the tree, a sensation like warm, damp fog on his face. The magic of life. 

“It took me a while to learn, but yes,” Oikawa answered, flopping down by the base of the tree. “It doesn’t even take that much energy, either. It’s like the trees already are on the verge of growing that quickly, and all they need is a little bit more.” 

Iwaizumi tucked away that bit of information in a crook of his mind, and moved on. 

“In any case, we can’t stay long. I’m almost out of food.”

“Don’t tell me the famed warrior Iwaizumi Hajime can’t hunt,” Oikawa teased with squinted eyes.

“I can as soon as you agree to carry the heir,” Iwaizumi replied, setting himself down beside Oikawa.

“Hmph.” Oikawa side-eyed the baby suspiciously. “If it means we get to eat.” 

“Good,” Iwaizumi replied, handing the child over to Oikawa. “I’ll be back as soon as I kill something not poisonous.”

"Ugh, fine. Good luck hunting with a sword," Oikawa said, wrinkling up his nose. 

"I'll throw my dagger."

"Are you kidding or are you actually that stupid?" 

"I know how to throw knives."

"You're going to lose it the first throw."

"Unless I hit something."

"Which you won't."

"Guess we'll starve then."

Oikawa sighed dramatically and waved Iwaizumi away. "You know what, I don't care how you get us food, just kill something." 

"As you wish, Master," Iwaizumi sneered, mockingly upturning his forearms before leaving. 

"Don’t patronise me. You’re barely smart enough to know what that word means.” 

Iwaizumi didn’t look back. Gods damn it, he hated him and his whiny high-pitched voice. 

"Did you manage to catch something?"

Holding a limp creature by the legs, Iwaizumi dimly looked down at the child swaddled in cloth next to Oikawa. He flung back his hood, the droplets spilling down the back of his soaked cloak.

"Did you manage to keep the heir alive?"

Oikawa lifted his middle finger very deliberately. 

"Did you not make a fire so I could cook this?" Iwaizumi asked, and Oikawa spread out his hands. 

"Do you see dry firewood anywhere, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa challenged, and Iwaizumi tapped an impatient finger against his temple.

"Are you saying that your Breath can heal people, make trees grow, and it can't dry wood?"

"Iwa-chan, I knew you were thick, but you always manage to surprise me," Oikawa said. "Do I really need to explain?"

Glaring at him, Iwaizumi sat down. "I don't know much about Breathers, alright? You all keep to yourselves, and each of you use your Breath to develop different abilities - how am I supposed to know what you can't or can do?"

"Humans are living," Oikawa stated simply. "Trees are living. And in case you haven't picked up on the common trend here, branches aren't, nor is rain. My Breath only works on the alive." He paused, side-eyeing Iwaizumi. "I'm shocked it worked on you, honestly."

Iwaizumi swatted at him. "Shut up."

"A devastating reply."

Removing his blade from its flank, Iwaizumi tiredly glanced up at him. "Are you going to help me cook this or not?"

"I think the latter would be more entertaining,” Oikawa declared with a broad, self-satisfied smirk that was utterly undeserved. 

"Then keep an eye on the kid. I think he needs changing."

The smirk melted from Oikawa’s face. "I'll help you cook."

Iwaizumi shot a wide grin over at him, crouching beside the pile of leaves. "Thanks. Very generous of you to offer."

Scooting round to him, Oikawa picked up the creature, turning its listless, lukewarm corpse over. "What is it? A ferl?"

"No, not a ferl. Look at the double-tufted hind legs. It's a raq, similar but not the same. A ferl's kidney is poisonous to most humans."

Oikawa checked its furry back legs, and sure enough, two out of the three of them had a protruding tuft of matted fur halfway up its leg as well as at the end. Its face was narrow and short, a pair of eyes close together, two fore legs short and muscular. The length, stretched out, was about the same as Oikawa's arm. 

Iwaizumi noticed him studying it, and gestured with the tip of his knife, "Do you feel the weight of it? It'll do us for three days at least."

"Hm. Maybe you're not a totally useless addition to the team," Oikawa commented, and Iwaizumi didn't bother responding. 

"Here. I'll skin it and you make the fire, alright?"

"Little bit of a problem there -"

"Fire's alive, isn't it?"

Iwaizumi stared at him, and Oikawa didn't know whether to laugh or insult him first.

"No. No, it isn't."

"I've seen it swallow forests. How do you know it isn't?" Iwaizumi defended himself, and Oikawa laughed.

"It doesn't have a mind, Iwa-chan, much like you."

"That doesn't mean it's not alive."

"Fine. I'll prove how dead fire is to you." Oikawa closed his eyes, concentrating on that particular vivid warmth, imagining it scalding his lungs, burning the air right out of his windpipe, and suddenly he choked, coughing out smoke. The next second, a miniature, almost invisible flame spat out past his lips, and landed squarely in the leaves. 

"Told you fire was alive," Iwaizumi said. 

Oikawa had no answer. He knew his Breath could catch on fire, burn like any physical thing, but actually form it? 

“You’re lucky I’m such a skilled Breather,” he muttered. “Nobody inferior to me would’ve been able to do that.” 

“Maybe they just haven’t tried it yet,” Iwaizumi suggested, stripping the skin from the raq. 

“That’s likely, because no sane, reasonable person would think to try it.” 

"I like to call them uninventive."

"Whoever managed to teach you four syllable words must've been one hell of a teacher," Oikawa rebutted, because when you were stuck, go for the easy route of insulting their intelligence. Rules to live by. 

Iwaizumi brushed the remark off, stripping the skin from the raq fluidly. He drew his dagger up the middle of the creature, opened the skin, and dug out the insides. Oikawa watched curiously - every time he saw this - and the last time was long ago - he couldn't quite grasp it, how elegantly the tip of the blade hooked the organs, the measured flick of the wrist. However grotesque the skill was, it still was undoubtedly a skill. 

Iwaizumi caught him looking, the sides of his eyes pinching up. "I'd prefer if you attended to the heir rather than staring uselessly at me."

"Ha! Don't flatter yourself," Oikawa snorted, but nonetheless he moved to the child, and a pungent smell hit him. Great. 

After the raq was cooked and the child was settled again, Oikawa and Iwaizumi sat beside each other on bundled-up cloaks, eating in silence. Something was creeping on the edge of Iwaizumi's mind, and it had been for some time now, although he wasn't able to pin it down before now. Words, that was it. Oikawa's old words. 

“Hey,” Iwaizumi said quietly. “Remember when you said that I didn’t actually care for the child?”

He felt Oikawa wince beside him. “I didn’t mean that-“

“Don't apologise. I understand where you’re coming from, but I do care for him." Iwaizumi bowed his head, as if physically sinking into clouds of memories. "I watched him grow alongside his parents. I was appointed his guardian, and I’m content with that duty.” 

“Very noble of you,” Oikawa murmured, then sighed softly. “You probably think I’m heartless.” 

Drawing his gaze across Oikawa's face, Iwaizumi spoke quietly. “Not really.” 

“Hah.” Oikawa chuckled dryly. “That’s a yes.”

Iwaizumi stayed silent. Oikawa blew out a breath.

“I… look, I didn’t want him entrusted to me, okay? I have no idea how to take care of kids. I knew he’d be safer in your hands.” 

Iwaizumi sought out Oikawa's gaze, noting how his hazel eyes were pinched up in shame. “He’s safer with the both of us.”

“Yeah..” Oikawa looked at the ground. “Yeah, he is. That’s why I agreed to come with you.”

Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows. “Huh.” 

Oikawa pursed his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means huh.” 

“A huh always means more than huh," Oikawa said sharply, annoyance showing in his narrowed eyes. "Huh is a nonsense word, in case you didn’t know.”

Iwaizumi had to admit it felt nice to see annoyance in his face for once. “This huh just means huh.”

Oikawa blinked at him, then spoke exaggeratedly slowly. “You’re a simple creature, aren’t you?” 

Taking a bite of the meat, Iwaizumi shrugged. "You tell me."

He expected Oikawa to lay into him again, but instead he sighed and leaned back underneath the tree. "Pass me a leg, would you?"

Iwaizumi obliged, and Oikawa tore into it thoughtfully, eyes somewhere far away. 

The last dredges of sunlight crept down over the horizon, and the temporary pale red sweeping over the trees was quickly replaced by washed-out grey moonshine. Laying down, Iwaizumi rested the sleepy heir on his chest and stared up, waiting for the stars to unfold across the sky. 

Hearing a strange, sharp whoosh, Iwaizumi turned his head to look at Oikawa. Oikawa was sitting cross-legged, straight-backed, eyes closed and the tips of his slender forefingers just touching in his lap. Iwaizumi blinked. Was he concentrating on his breathing? Focusing closer on the source of the noise, Iwaizumi narrowed his gaze on Oikawa’s thin fingers, spread apart slightly. He could see shimmers, like air on a stifling day, ripple around his fingers, weaving in and out within a second. 

“What does that do?” 

Oikawa started. “Ah-“

Iwaizumi’s gaze was drawn to his thumb, where a long cut had appeared, quietly oozing white. 

“Your White is your blood?” 

White. The accursed colour that appeared on a magicker’s body, branding them for life. It was rare to have it not on a patch of skin, like a line on a finger, or a patch on an ear. 

Lifting his eyes to meet Oikawa’s glower, Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows. “Are you going to answer anything?” 

Oikawa, sucking on his wound, only glared harder. As if that was supposed to affect Iwaizumi. His light brown eyes were much too mellow, reflecting the ashen branches in his pupil much too prettily to intimidate anyone. 

"It's my Breath when it's in its natural state and not healing anything, you moron."

"It can cut skin?" Iwaizumi wondered, gaze dropping to Oikawa's hands. 

He'd never noticed before, but many, tiny white scars were interlaced across his long hands, crowded more intensely in the spaces by the bottom of his fingers. 

"Maybe," Oikawa replied evasively, eyes squinting darkly at Iwaizumi. "Why should I tell you anything about my abilities when you don't tell me anything about yours?"

His shadowy stare made something inside Iwaizumi squirm. He didn't like the feeling. 

"Mine? Self-explanatory. Big sword, slash and stab," Iwaizumi said shortly. 

"That's not what I mean, and you know that. Did that mark give you magic or were you born with it?"

"You're only asking me that to turn the conversation away from yourself," Iwaizumi observed, pointedly looking at Oikawa's hands. 

"No! As you're so fond of saying, we're partners now. I should know your abilities as well as I know my own for the best chance of survival."

"Doesn't that apply to me as well?"

"No, you're thick. I'll be the one coming up with the strategies." 

Pausing, Iwaizumi looked flatly at Oikawa, who looked innocently back. "I stand by what I said, Iwa-chan."

Sighing, Iwaizumi conceded, "If you must know, I've had magic since birth."

"And you still don't know how to control it?"

"I know how to repress it. That's all I need to do."

"Ah, yes. That works excellently." 

"Can you leave me alone for a single trok?" Iwaizumi asked, irritation touching his voice. 

For once, the genuine botherment in his voice seemed to give Oikawa hesitation, who clasped his hands together on his lap, then aimed a bright smile at him. "Don't worry! Soon you'll be so used to it you won't take what I say seriously." 

"Why would you say things not meant to be taken seriously?" Iwaizumi inquired, feeling his brow fold in bemusement. "Is that part of being a diplomat?"

Oikawa let out a husky chuckle. "I suppose you can say that yes, it is."

"Huh."

They lapsed into silence. Iwaizumi felt Oikawa's eyes run over him a final time, then he reassumed his original position, back resting against the tree trunk and hands arranged neatly and specifically in his lap. Checking on the heir, Iwaizumi rocked him back and forth smoothly, hopefully aiding his sleep. He wished he could doze off as easily as the kid did. Staring into the fire, emptying itself of sparks and heat with every passing moment, Iwaizumi attempted to wipe his mind blank. The darkness was curling up around them, cutting through the mist rising softly from the drying leaves, and he felt sleep tugging at the back of his head. 

He glanced over at Oikawa, who was now slumped back against the trunk, and taking in his lidded eyes, nudged him with his elbow. Oikawa blearily blinked at him. 

“What?”

“You sleep, I’ll wake you up when it’s your time to keep watch.”

Oikawa gave a dulled groan of acknowledgement, and Iwaizumi turned his gaze away, watching how the darkening of the sky flicked shadows, shaped like beasts, across the ground. After a few minutes, his eyes strayed back to Oikawa, curled up by the base of the tree beside him, his tense expression not peaceful even when resting in the nothingness of sleep. Iwaizumi doubted Oikawa would look serene even if he was dead. 

The thought jarred him, more than it should've, and Iwaizumi looked away. 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, listening to the calls of nightlings and the titters of tyelrs, wishing he could understand. Without him noticing, Iwaizumi’s thoughts faded out, replaced by a blissful absence of his mind, and then finally, oblivion. 


	3. Strange Times, Dark Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get naked, Iwaizumi's weakness is revealed, babies pee too much, and yet another someone tries to kill them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to my inability to name things, I will be stealing song titles as chapter titles from now on.  
> that will be all, thank you.  
> as always, I hope you enjoy reading this ^^

Iwaizumi woke up as soon as the baby began screaming. He jerked his head up off of Oikawa’s leg and focused on the baby, leaning over him. 

“What do you need now?” 

As an answer, a putrid smell hit his nostrils, and he had to withdraw, grimacing. 

Oikawa was already on his feet, holding his nose shut as he watched from the furthest point away possible. Iwaizumi had never seen him move so fast before.

“It’s not supposed to smell like _that,_ is it?!” 

“Babies poop. It’s not a big deal,” Iwaizumi said, unwrapping the thankfully still clean blanket and placing the heir gently on its back. “Pay attention, you’ll need to do this soon.” 

“I’m not going near that. That baby will have to fester in its own shit.” 

“Calm down, more shit than this comes out of your mouth,” Iwaizumi told him, unfolding the small square of cloth around the heir’s waist carefully. “You should be used to this smell.” 

“Stop being mean and get rid of the poop already! I’m dying from suffocation over here!” 

“Quit being dramatic and focus on what I’m doing,” Iwaizumi said, taking a spare cloth out of his bag. “This was you once.”

He held out the dirty cloth to Oikawa. “Find a river to wash this in, would you?” 

“I’m not touching that!” 

“Do you want to carry it with you until we can find one along the way instead? It’s just rained, there’s bound to be deep puddles nearby.” 

Oikawa wordlessly inched closer, gingerly taking the bundle by the absolute edges. Taking out a cloth and spreading it on the ground, Iwaizumi laid the child on its back, kicking its chubby legs in the air. 

“Are you going to leave or stand there?”

Reluctantly, Oikawa moved away through the greenery, and Iwaizumi focused on cleaning the baby’s bottom, who continued to wail. He spared a glance to look around - although he didn't need it. He could hear the blissful silence even through the noise of the baby. The rain had stopped. 

"Sshh, ssh, it's okay, it's okay," Iwaizumi mumbled softly. He caught himself lifting a hand to stroke the dark tuft of hair without thinking. Hesitating in midair, he dropped his hand. 

Finishing up the dirty work, Iwaizumi wrapped him back up, rocking him back and forth as he saw his late mother do in an attempt to soothe him. After a few minutes, his crying quietened, and Iwaizumi breathed a sigh of relief. 

Iwaizumi heard rapid footsteps approaching, and glanced up with one hand on his sword hilt. It was only Oikawa, bursting through the bushes and waving the clean cloth around excitedly. 

"Why are you-" Iwaizumi started. 

“There’s a waterfall nearby! There's a lake too, and I'm going to bathe! I'm so sick of being coated in dirt," Oikawa proclaimed, hiking up his bag onto his shoulder. 

He flung the wet cloth haphazardly at Iwaizumi, then flounced off the way he came. Rolling his eyes at nobody, Iwaizumi steadied the child in the crook of his arm, then hoisted up his bag over one shoulder and followed Oikawa's loud path. 

The narrow, makeshift track soon broadened, and before long Iwaizumi could see Oikawa's back. The distant, heavy pattering of water came into focus more and more with every wind of the track, and Iwaizumi could see the spring in Oikawa's heels as he practically skipped along. 

"It's just around this bend-look!" Oikawa spoke quickly, and Iwaizumi noticed that his voice had jumped a few notes higher. He snorted softly. He was really that ecstatic about a waterfall?

Then Iwaizumi turned the corner, and he let out a low whistle. Inclining his head back, he squinted against the sun's blinding white to judge where the thin, forceful stream of water was gushing from. A few feet in front of them, a small pool lay silent at the base of the waterfall, edged by grassy verges. Beyond the slight ripples reaching the edge where Iwaizumi stood, he could see slender forms darting to and fro between the stones and waving plants at the bottom. The sound of the waterfall was like bullets pouring against a solid rockface, filling the whole area and spilling upwards, out through the gap in the trees. Iwaizumi gave himself a heartbeat to breathe easily. The air was tainted by the scent of the bushes' pollen, but it felt clearer in Iwaizumi's lungs than any cloudy air had in a long time. 

Standing on the balls of his feet, Oikawa took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “It smells like life here.”

He instantly dumped his baggage by his feet. 

“Oikawa, we don’t have time to relax and have a bath,” Iwaizumi argued, but Oikawa was already unpinning his cloak and hanging it over a branch. 

“We can spare a trok to have a quick wash,” Oikawa replied, pulling off of his shirt. “Ah, it feels good to be free of that filthy rag!”

While Oikawa undressed, Iwaizumi stepped to the edge of the little lake, crouched, and dragged his spread fingers through the cold fluid. Glancing up at the liquid rushing from the break in the rocks, white sheets of water roughly splattering downwards, pounding against the calm pool, his shoulders lowered. Maybe it was okay to stay here a while. He smiled at the child in the crook of his arm, who was trying his best to mimic his actions, stubby arms reaching out towards the water.

Unwrapping the kid from his cloth, Iwaizumi held him by the arms and carefully sunk just a fraction of his toes into the water. His face crumpled up, and Iwaizumi was afraid he’d begin crying, until the confused wrinkle of a tiny brow lifted and his mouth opened in joy, windmilling his legs back and forth as fast as he could, creating little splashes with his feet. Iwaizumi’s smile widened. 

“Isn’t that just fucking heartwarming?” 

Iwaizumi spared a precious moment of his life to shoot a scowl sideways at Oikawa and immediately regretted it, as Oikawa was utterly naked. Sure, naked men usually didn’t faze him in the least, but normally he had some sort of warning beforehand. 

Seeing his head whip back around, Oikawa laughed like the bastard he was. 

“Intimidated, Iwa-chan?”

In answer, Iwaizumi gathered the heir back into his cloth, ignoring the displeased pout, and stared back at Oikawa. He rose to his feet, maintaining steady eye contact. 

“I’ve seen a lot better.”

“Impossible,” Oikawa declared surely. 

Iwaizumi gave him a flat stare. “I train warriors. You think a healer’s body can match up to constant training?”

“If it’s you that’s training them, then sure,” Oikawa replied, then appeared to become bored with the conversation and turned towards the water. 

Iwaizumi inhaled slowly. He prided himself on keeping a level head at all times, but he’d never come across someone as infuriating as Oikawa before. Maybe that one smartass he’d taken on for training once? That was only at the start, though. His training soon shut his mouth - Iwaizumi had made certain that nobody had energy to waste on witticism. And the fact that Oikawa had enough of a toned body to back up his shit-talk didn’t help.

Iwaizumi rubbed a hand across his forehead, the baby kicking in his arms. It didn’t matter. Oikawa wasn’t going to get to him. He exhaled. 

Rolling up his pants up to his knee, Iwaizumi slipped off his boots one at a time, and dipped his legs into the water. The heir stared at the water for a moment, then opened his mouth and let out a whine. 

“Alright, alright,” Iwaizumi murmured, and placed the heir on the verge, too close for Iwaizumi’s comfort but close enough that his stubby legs could paddle shallowly, just grazing the water's surface. 

Sighing contently, Oikawa sat by the edge, dropping his feet quickly through the water’s surface. A smile drawing across his mouth, he pushed himself off of the ledge and slipped completely into the swimming translucent, head dipping below the ripples. His eyes, barely visible through the curtain of his wet hair, appeared above the surface a few moments later, squinted at Iwaizumi, and rose up a bit more.

“Are you just going to sit there?” Oikawa asked, lifting a hand to move his hair out of his eyes.

Iwaizumi remained motionless, apart from a single blink. “Yes.”

“I don’t want to be smelling your sweat for the next week,” Oikawa informed him, shaking his head. “Please, wash yourself. Or at the very least, wash my clothes for me.”

“I’m good,” Iwaizumi commented dryly. 

“I can smell you from here.” 

“You’ll get used to it.” 

“You’re going to suffocate that baby with your armpit sweat.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Iwaaaaa-chaaaaan!”

“You’re only saying that because you don’t have another rational reason to get me to bathe.” 

“Do the words ‘personal hygiene’ mean anything to you?” 

“Never heard of them before.” 

Oikawa huffed out a breath, lying back and allowing himself to float, hair diffusing out through the water. “If you would stop being so sarcastic and cynical for a moment, you’d see that I’m suggesting this for your own good.” 

“I know,” Iwaizumi replied simply. “But…”

He paused, picking at his dirty clothes, and sighed. “Alright. I guess you know already. Give me a few minutes to settle Tobio down.” 

“Know what?” 

Iwaizumi had already vanished into the bushes with a quiet rustle. Sighing, Oikawa kicked out lightly, letting the currents formed by the waterfall drift him further towards the edge. Feeling a softness glide against his calf, he jerked upright, ready to scramble out of the pool. He peered sharply at the water, suspicious of a foul little creature after his blood. His shoulders relaxed and he dipped back down into the welcome coolness as soon as he saw the little dreefs sliding through the water. Harmless. 

A few troks later, Iwaizumi returned with his clothes neatly folded over one arm, the heir in the other. He crouched, set his clothes down by the edge, and held the heir a few moments longer, swaying him back and forth cautiously. Oikawa took the opportunity to scan over his form - wasn't no harm in looking - and wasn't surprised with what he saw. He expected a warrior's body, functionally strong without any emphasis put on egotistical muscles, leading to gentle, but hard curves of his arms, legs, stomach. 

Straightening up, Iwaizumi squinted at Oikawa suspiciously. 

“This isn’t the place where you washed his cloth out, is it?” 

“Of course not!" Oikawa refuted loudly. "Do you think I would be in the water if it was? How lowly do you think of me?” 

“You don’t want me to answer that.” 

"Hey!"

Oikawa thought he saw the glimmer of a half-smile on his lips, but he thought surely not. That would be evidence of a sense of humour. 

Iwaizumi examined the depth of the pool, then backed up slightly. 

He dived in with the characteristic grace Oikawa was starting to associate with the strokes of his sword, powerful without being forceful or mindless. Every motion and pause had a certain purpose. It suited his body, his personality. Functional, no bells or whistles attached. 

Whereas Oikawa was an empty ghost relying on the noise he made to survive. 

Oikawa shook the morbid truth to the back of his skull. Self-loathing later. Insulting Iwaizumi now.

“Oh,” Oikawa said as soon as Iwaizumi surfaced. 

Iwaizumi gave him a half-smile, threading a hand back through his hair, shaking the last of the black colouring from his hair. “Yeah. You already know I can use magic, so why not?” 

“I wouldn’t say you’re able to ‘use’ it….”

Oikawa stared at Iwaizumi’s flattened hair, split into two distinct sections. He judged that almost a third was pure white, covering from the patches just above his left eye to his ear, blending into grey at the edges before transitioning to black completely. 

“I’ve never seen such a large, concentrated mark” Oikawa said, his own white blood coming to mind. “How do you keep it black?”

“Dried ink,” Iwaizumi replied, gesturing to the black puddle swaying through the water. “It keeps my hair in spikes, too, so it’s out of my way.” 

Oikawa didn’t ask why he dyed it. Magickers weren’t safe, from others or themselves. 

Iwaizumi appreciated that. He also appreciated how Oikawa barely looked at the scars lacerating his body, never mind question him about them. It seemed that even Oikawa had a sense of boundaries at times. 

“They look stupid, though,” Oikawa said, sticking out his tongue. “It’s like a ruo licked your head and glued it all up like that.” 

“Someone told me that they were intimidating.”

“That person was lying,” Oikawa decided. “Your hair looks much better when it’s down.” 

“It may look better, but it’s in my eyes,” Iwaizumi huffed out, illustrating his point by lifting a hand and flicking it to the side, sticking to his forehead. “And that sort of thing gets you killed in my line of work.” 

“Gods, you’re so serious,” Oikawa sighed out. “Looking good is equally as important as not getting killed. Take me for example. Nobody could kill me without mourning the loss of an incredibly beautiful person afterwards. And people listen more to you if you’re good-looking.” 

“You must get ignored a lot.” 

“Hey! You _qaswo_!”

“Don’t use your fancy Breather language insults on me,” Iwaizumi warned. “It doesn’t make you appear any smarter. You can only seem smarter if you display actual intelligence.” 

“How about go fuck yourself?” Oikawa suggested viciously, and this time he coupled it with a slash of his hand through the water, soaking Iwaizumi’s face. 

Iwaizumi shook his head violently, sending sprays from his hair into Oikawa’s eyes. 

“Cheater!” Oikawa cried, raising a hand to protect himself. 

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi couldn’t help himself from smirking. “This is much more my style.” 

With that, he plunged underwater, and closed his arms around Oikawa’s waist, dragging him down with him. The water skated against his skin, cool and alive. He felt Oikawa’s legs kick out against his, furiously twisting in his grip in an attempt to free himself. Iwaizumi grinned against his torso, feeling Oikawa’s hands scrabble and shove at his shoulders, until finally dropping to his sides and skimming across his skin. Iwaizumi felt his muscles contracting and cursed him. The bastard was tickling him. 

Iwaizumi’s legs convulsed involuntarily, and he inhaled a mouthful of water, forced to relinquish his hold on Oikawa. He pushed at Oikawa’s chest and broke the surface, coughing out water. 

Oikawa surfaced a second later, gasping, long hair plastered to his shoulders. “You absolute brute! You tried to drown me!” 

“You’re the one who fought dirty!” Iwaizumi fired back, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “Tickling, really? Are you six?” 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Oikawa shot a smirk over at him, to which Iwaizumi scowled as nastily as he could back. “I bet your enemies would’ve been able to defeat you a lot easier if they had known that, huh? The Almighty Iwa-chan’s weakness is tickles.” 

Oikawa laughed, bright and free, and Iwaizumi abruptly realised why he kept calling himself gorgeous. How did he never notice how nicely his lips curled back when he smiled, or how warm his mahogany eyes became when he let himself relax? 

Iwaizumi swallowed hard, watching how the water droplets ran sparkling off of his eyelashes, feeling heat kindle deep in his chest. A familiar sort of cool pressure began spreading over his eyes, and he looked away hastily, ducking himself underneath the surface so Oikawa didn’t see the white ringing his irises. 

When he ran out of breath and came up for air, he dared to glance at Oikawa again, who was surveying him in confusion.

“Did you finally realise you can never beat me and decide to drown yourself?” Oikawa asked, and just like that, Oikawa was a dickhead again. 

Iwaizumi lunged for him with a smile on his face. Dodging his attack with a small yelp of protest, Oikawa outstretched his hand and managed to brush his fingertips against Iwaizumi’s side again, breaking his concentration. 

“ _Pleeth_ ,” Iwaizumi hissed out between clenched teeth, swimming away from Oikawa.

“Hey, if I can’t use my language you can’t use yours,” Oikawa declared surely, wagging his finger at Iwaizumi. “That’s double standards.” 

“You tickled me. I never did anything to you.” 

After a while, their bickering died out, replaced with the sensation of calm only a body of water can produce. Iwaizumi kept a sharp eye on the heir as Oikawa soaked himself underneath the waterfall, ashy brown hair flattening almost all the way over his eyes. 

"Iwa-chan."

"Hm?"

"Why did you never develop your magic? You could've been so much more powerful if you hadn't decided to lock it away. Your mark is one of the biggest, if not the biggest, I’ve ever seen.” 

Iwaizumi lay back into the water, half-closed eyes flickering and pursuing how the water descended over the rocks, how the droplets splattered and ran off of the surrounding leaves. 

"I've enough people trying to kill me as it is. I don't want those anti-magic factions chasing me as well."

He heard Oikawa laugh, emerging from underneath the waterfall. "Those groups can't do shit. I would be long dead by now if they could."

"You had the protection of Torem," Iwaizumi reminded him, straightening up to look Oikawa in the eye. "I didn't."

"Probably because you were murdering bandits' best friends," Oikawa murmured back, sweeping the hair out of his eyes. "Kings usually have reservations about endorsing murderers."

"I didn't murder him."

Oikawa lifted an eyebrow. "I don't blame you for lying, if that's what you're worried about. After all, it stopped me from having to find another way to talk myself out of it, but I can't believe a simple scar made that head-hunter hesitate. Something doesn't sit right with me."

"He flung a dagger into it," Iwaizumi mentioned dryly. "Or did you forget that little detail?"

Oikawa wasn't listening, gliding on his back and staring up at the patch of sky. "Mmm. I'll figure it out. I always do."

Yet again, Iwaizumi had a flash of what it'd be like to hold Oikawa's head under water until the bubbles stopped rising to the surface. He shook the image away. It wasn't as satisfying as it was before. So he kicked off the rocks, and swam, feeling the muscles in his shoulders expand and stretch with a gratifying ache. When was the last time he had swam? 

A rustle from the side startled him, and he relaxed when he saw the head of an anker appear from the bushes, munching peacefully on the low-lying branches. The relief was quickly overrun by a strong sense of dread. Had his instincts dulled so much that he couldn't even pick up on a very-not-stealthy anker approaching? Yes, his magic covered for him… sometimes. 

"Why are you scowling at nothing?" Oikawa's voice perked up, and Iwaizumi looked to the side to see Oikawa's bored expression facing him.

Aware of the tenseness in his face, Iwaizumi did nothing to smooth it out, just aimed it at Oikawa. "I'm not scowling at nothing."

"I wasn't annoying you."

"You are now."

"Is it because I'm going to solve all your secret society's super-secret secrets?" he asked innocently, and Iwaizumi's scowl deepened. 

"I'm getting out to check on the heir." 

"Aw, are you that afraid of me extracting information from you? I promise I'll be gentle!" Oikawa called out to Iwaizumi's back as he made his way back to the other side. 

Iwaizumi's final word on the matter was a magnificently clear display of his middle finger. 

The next section of the forest felt cold, frost twinkling dangerously in the bark's grooves. Iwaizumi wasn't sure if it grew there naturally or migrated there of its own accord, but he made a mental note to not touch the trees unless absolutely necessary. It had been too long since he had passed through this wood, too long since he'd been outside his comfort zone. 

“Do we really have to go through here?” Oikawa questioned slowly, watching how darkly the leaves swayed in the cold wind, somehow out of sync with the gusts. 

Iwaizumi shared his unease. It seemed to him that the decaying leaves were almost pushing back against the force of the wind, rotting right on the branches. He looked down, and there was a floor of brown squelch, large-capped mushrooms sprouting up here and there. Any light that made it past the dying leaves was immediately swallowed by the ground. 

“It’s a three week trip around,” Iwaizumi informed him, and Oikawa’s expression flashed, showing a hint of disappointment before hardening. 

Oikawa readjusted his shoulder bag, lips set in a steady line. “Well, let’s get it over with then.” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes flicked over in surprise, but chose to say nothing, only clasping the heir closer to his chest. His agreement was shown by his step forwards. 

The trees were fermenting on the inside. The dark brown, slimy leaves stuck to their boots and refused to move. The ground, sodden by rain into mud, often looked deceptively shallow, and only when Iwaizumi's foot sunk ankle-deep into it was its true depth revealed. Iwaizumi had never came across man-swallowing mudholes in these woods before, however unsettling they were, but he suspected things had changed since he had passed through last. 

He spared a glance backwards to see how Oikawa, used to his cushy near-royal lifestyle, was doing.

Oikawa smelled blood.

It wasn’t a light whiff, like a nosebleed. This scent was heavy as if it had rained iron nails, strong as steel - Oikawa almost physically recoiled at the stench. 

“What’s wrong?” Iwaizumi questioned, glancing back at a stiff, unmoving Oikawa.

“There’s been a massacre,” Oikawa murmured. “Nearby, where the wind is coming from. Nobody alive.”

“How can you tell?”

“I’m a Breather. If someone was dying, I would be able to taste their heartbeat, same as I can smell blood. There’s nobody alive there.”

Iwiazumi’s eyes shifted, drifting to the direction of the wind breezing airily from the right. The day was humid, causing patience to run low and clothes to stick to skin, and he sighed. 

“That’s the quickest route out of here.”

“Then we’ll go another way.”

Iwaizumi lifted an eyebrow, but one look at Oikawa’s face told him that he was serious. There was no shred of softness on his features, only a deep distrust, a stony stubbornness. His eyes had no light in them, as if the sunlight was swallowed whole by his irises. Iwaizumi hefted his pack, and headed straight on. 

Oikawa followed in silence, his head swimming from the last cries of the dead. He hated this; the more powerful he became, the more accurately he was able to perceive tragedy, sometimes even smelling it from certain people that pass by. It always took him by surprise, the scent never being fixed. Sometimes it was smotheringly sweet, almost like he couldn’t breathe through honey clogging up his nose and mouth, sometimes like a rotting carcass, sometimes like the damp odour of mouldy leaves. 

He tried to focus on Iwaizumi’s back, but it was difficult with the consuming odour, blown right towards him by the wind. Bringing a hand to cover his nose and mouth was an instinct, despite knowing it wouldn’t help a single bit. 

Ahead of him, Iwaizumi stopped abruptly, so suddenly that Oikawa’s head almost collided with the bag on his back. 

“What?” Oikawa’s voice was on edge, dangerously close to a snap. 

Iwaizumi only stood aside and let Oikawa see for himself. Previously hidden by the thick foliage, a gash in the earth cut right across their path, as if a giant had tried to chop the earth in two. Oikawa guessed that it was at least twelve foot wide, and as for the depth… he peered down, and couldn’t see the bottom. There were no plants growing on the sides, despite the ample room. 

“We have to go back.”

“I thought you said that this was a route around it!” Oikawa protested, stepping closer to the drop. 

“I haven’t been here in a while,” murmured Iwaizumi, his eyes drifting around, through the trees. “And this forest sometimes shifts-”

“There’s another way around, isn’t there?” Oikawa demanded, turning to Iwaizumi, who shook his head. 

“Do you see one?”

Pointing to the left, Oikawa had only opened his mouth before Iwaizumi shut him down. “If we go that way we’ll be on the opposite side of the river to the village.”

“We’ll take a boat across.”

“It’s not worth it-”

“Is it worth endangering the kid to save a few days?” Oikawa pushed. “Whatever killed those people could still be around, and if it took out a massive group like that there’s no way in hell that we’d survive!”

Calmly, Iwaizumi studied his face. Oikawa didn’t like it.

“What does it smell like?”

“Like-” Oikawa’s voice faltered. “Like rotting swords, but if they were shoved up my nose and down my throat.”

“You might have to deal with it for a while longer,” Iwaizumi answered, turning his back to Oikawa and walking back down the thin trail they’d emerged from.

Feeling his nails pinch the inside of his palms, Oikawa stood exactly where he was, irritation swelling up onto rage on his tongue. He watched Iwaizumi make his way through the trees coolly, then his eyes flicked back over the crevasse. They watered, finally folding underneath the horrid stench, and Oikawa roughly wiped the tears away before they could fall. 

He caught up to Iwaizumi a few moments afterwards.

“You’re a dick.”

Iwaizumi only met his gaze for a second before looking away, towards the sunlight glimpsed through the leaves. “You’ll be fine.”

“Isn’t that for me to decide?” Oikawa retorted, his breathing growing shallower as they approached the scene. 

Rounding a tight twist in the path, Iwaizumi stopped, and Oikawa kept going, keeping his eyes fixated to the side of the clearing. He didn’t need to see anything. He could sense the death himself without the use of sight. 

“What? I told you it was a massacre,” Oikawa said sharply, gesturing him onwards. He grimaced, staring at the ground to avoid the blood-matted soil. It was impossible. 

“Yes, you did, but you didn’t tell me that they’re the mercenaries we paid off,” Iwaizumi replied, striding straight out into the thick of it. 

Oikawa was forced to lift his gaze from the ground. 

It smelt worse than it looked, with the bodies slumped messily, trickles of blood running down pale palms, surprise still showing in dead, wide, glazed eyes. The pang of recognition Oikawa felt when he noticed the mercenary’s leader in the middle - where Iwaizumi was now standing - was quickly overcome by a different urge. 

Placing his hands on his knees just in time, Oikawa’s stomach rebelled against the foul stink and the sight of pale, drained necks. He threw up what he had, the slimy texture slinking over his tongue and the acrid taste of vinegar only revolting him more. Chest heaving, he gulped down air between hurls, dizziness dangerously close to overtaking his head. He wasn’t going to faint here. 

“Whoever killed them, they weren’t worried about looting,” Iwaizumi commented, crouching and unpicking a brooch from the leader’s stained shirt. 

He held it up to Oikawa, who shook his head, straightening up. His eyes were threatening to spill over again, so he wiped his face with his cloak, pretending to remove the last drips of puke from his chin and lips.

Iwaizumi stood up, pocketing the brooch, and his gaze strayed over Oikawa’s flushed face. “I thought you’d be used to scenes like this.” 

“They all smell different. I can never get used to it,” Oikawa answered, a shakiness sneaking into his voice. He shook his head again. “We’re moving on.” 

Iwaizumi nodded, casting a last glance over the bodies. He paused. “There’s no blood on any of their weapons.” 

“What does that have to do with anything? Let’s just go,” Oikawa spoke back fast and clipped, mimicking the pacing of his heartbeat. 

His tone was not lost on Iwaizumi, who, with one more searching glance over the genocide, trudged over to Oikawa. “Alright. Let’s go, before the kid wakes up.”

Hastily, Oikawa hurried over to the far edge of the clearing. Ordinarily, he would’ve been grateful to feel the sunlight on his skin and heating up his cloak, but it felt too heartless, even for him, to enjoy life beside the dead. Iwaizumi followed him closely, to Oikawa’s relief. The stench, now behind them in the wind, began easing out bit by bit until finally Oikawa’s stomach stopped boiling and his eyes were no longer blurry. 

Neither of them said a word, hiking mutely along the gradually widening track, until the heir began crying. Sighing loudly, Oikawa lifted him from the makeshift sling on Iwaizumi’s chest and held him gingerly, at arm’s length. 

“What do you think the little wrinkly human wants now?” He asked, to which Iwaizumi gestured to his nappy. 

“What do you think?” Iwaizumi said dryly, lifting the sling and showing Oikawa his front. A wet patch had soaked through his shirt and had trailed down to the hem, widening as it went. Oikawa would’ve gagged if he had seen anything other than what he’d just seen. 

“Great,” Oikawa muttered, attempting to hold the child even further away from him. “Why do they shit so much?”

“I don’t think they have control,” Iwaizumi answered, bending down to try and create an area they could lay the baby down on.

“It was a rhetorical question,” Oikawa said, the baby becoming too heavy to hold at length, reluctantly tucking him into his arms . "Let's call him ikol. It suits his sadistic nature."

"We are not calling the future heir of the kingdom an insult."

"If he pisses in my fucking arms one single time he's being called exactly what he is. An ikol." 

The baby wriggled around in Oikawa's arms, and he fought the urge to drop him. It wouldn't do any extra damage, he was sure of it. 

Spreading out a cloth on the ground, Iwaizumi sighed. "No, Oikawa. You're not."

"I'm not calling him 'the heir.' You can give that amount of respect to a baby if you want to, but to me he's just a shitting machine. And -" Oikawa yelped, feeling a warmth trickle down the inside of his arms. "Take him! Take him the brat!" 

He threw out his hands in a jerk, and the baby started crying, only peeing harder. Grimacing, Iwaizumi straightened up and took him by the armpits. 

Scrunching up his nose, Oikawa shook out his arms, trying to rid himself of the urine. "That's it," he declared, narrowing his eyes at the child. "His piss is going to ruin my cloak. Tobio-chan has gone far enough."

"What are you gonna do?" Iwaizumi asked dryly, laying him on the cloth, wiping off his stubbly little legs. "Fight him?"

"Yes."

"Oikawa. He is a baby."

"I don't care." Oikawa began rolling up his cloak sleeves, and Iwaizumi gave him a flat stare. 

"Are you serious?"

"A little more brain damage won't affect him-"

"Why do I feel like I'm taking care of a baby and a toddler?" Iwaizumi wondered aloud, looking at Oikawa, who stuck out his tongue. 

"Fine. Tobio-chan gets one more chance. One." 

"I hope he shits on you next time," Iwaizumi muttered, and Oikawa huffed, crossing his damp arms over his chest. 

"You're mean, Iwa-chan." 

"Really?" Iwaizumi folded the square cloth around Tobio's kicking legs. "I'm not the one trying to punch an eleven-month old baby." 

"He deserves it." 

After the business was done and a shirt hastily washed, Iwaizumi took a moment to settle the heir. His rhythmic step seemed to calm the child down, and within a few minutes his eyelids were drooping.

Iwaizumi turned back around, securing the heavy baby in the sling thing Oikawa had no idea why Iwaizumi knew how to make. He was just glad that he wasn’t tasked with carrying the thing. 

Iwaizumi stopped suddenly, and Oikawa almost snapped. 

“If this disgusting child needs to be changed again, I -”

“Oikawa, shut up.”

Iwaizumi’s voice was low, and Oikawa began paying attention. He was right to stop. There was something amiss with how the leaves were moving, shifting as if there were eyes behind them. The greenery sparked, the light before a wildfire shifting along the bushes, and Oikawa smelt ashes. Iwaizumi’s heel planted firmly in the earth, his hand crept towards his sword, as if afraid to scare the approaching blaze. 

In a gentle swirl of orange and brown, someone shimmered into sight ahead of them. They were shorter than Oikawa and barefoot, despite being fully clothed. Oikawa’s sharp eyes combed them down in a second, and found absolutely nothing distinctive about their appearance. Underneath their cloask, a loose, drab shirt hid their figure, along with plain white pants. The only telling thing was the flick of black hair clinging to the sides of their hood. Oikawa’s mind rapidly switched to his other, more acute senses. 

They had an odd aura of belonging, as if they were as comfortable talking to them as to the trees. The browns on their cloak blended into the bushes, and if Oikawa’s eyes strayed away, he swore he could see branches flickering across their clothing, as if the forest was being reflected by them. Focusing, Oikawa blinked fast, and then they appeared clear, their lanky outline emerging from the surroundings smoothly. The smell of burnt charcoal grew stronger. Definitely a magicker - of what type, Oikawa couldn’t be certain. And that put him on edge. 

Then Oikawa looked down, and the muddy soil was climbing up the sides of his shoes. His breath stopped; they had to be like him. The earth responded to their kind. 

He raised his gaze to meet the stranger’s, and an understanding flashed between them. 

“Travelling with a _ruke?”_ They chided, a voice smooth and higher-pitched. “They always slow us down, don’t they?”

She may be good, Oikawa realised, but not good enough to notice Iwaizumi’s repressed store of magic. 

“He may be a _ruke_ , but as they go, he’s good as a pack horse,” Oikawa responded. 

Iwaizumi’s eyes shifted, unnerved momentarily by the use of a Breather word he didn’t know, aware he was slowly being excluded and dissected. 

“Are all Breathers rude by default or am I just unlucky?” Iwaizumi said coldly. 

“The ones who survive through their gift are. We have to be selfish to survive, isn’t that unfair?” 

She looked over with gentle golden eyes at Oikawa, as if expecting him to agree readily. Oikawa met her eyes and smiled back pleasantly, not allowing the sharpness to ruffle him.

“Now that we understand each other, I’d like you to live up to your selfish nature and give me the heir,” she said softly. “I can take care of it for you two. Neither one of you want to be tethered to it. Trust me. I will give it everything it could ever want in life. It deserves a kingdom by birthright, no?”

"I don't know what you're talking about," Oikawa replied easily. "But we would appreciate it if we could be on our way now. We've got a lot of ground to cover to get home."

Oikawa attempted to stride past the stranger, who put out a hand, chest-high, to intercept him. Instinctively, Oikawa paused right before contact. He had a feeling that touching would be a bad idea.

"There's no point in acting ignorant. You're just wasting both of our time, so can we speak freely?" 

Giving a pained, stretched smile, Oikawa retreated a step. "I understand that you are convinced we're some people you know, or some people you're looking for, but I can assure you that -"

"Oikawa Tooru, the Breather for hire. Iwaizumi Hajime, the mentor behind all of the famous warriors. Is that not right? As far as I know, both of you are partnerless and childless. Highly unusual for two men who were simply paid by the same king to be escorting a baby around, wouldn't you agree?"

Oikawa opened his mouth to deny everything, create a plausible backstory as to their situation, but before he could, Iwaizumi raised his sword. “The heir was entrusted to me by the king. I’ll make sure he receives his kingdom.”

Shutting his eyes, Oikawa had to exercise all of his self-control not to strangle Iwaizumi. 

The stranger huffed, amused, and again, met Oikawa’s eyes as if she expected him to share her sentiment, then settled back on Iwaizumi. “Come on now, don’t you know better? Evigilo does.”

Oikawa felt his jaw stiffen, a coldness creeping up his chest. How did she know the heir was with them? How did she know his chosen name? Why did she want the child so badly? Did she have anything to do with the massacre they had passed?

“Oikawa.”

At Iwaizumi’s low, warning tone cutting through the silence, Oikawa realised he hadn’t said anything. 

He cleared his throat. 

“I think you should leave the care of the child to us,” he said steadily, gesturing to Iwaizumi behind him with an assuring half-smile. “We’re more than capable. It’s a classic combination, isn’t it? The muscle and the thinker. So, respectfully, if you could step aside we’ll be on our way.”

He ended strong and confident, spreading out his hands to hide the shakiness he felt. He had a feeling the stranger could sense his unease as easily as Oikawa could sense her power. 

"How do you know that he's the heir?" Iwaizumi demanded. 

The stranger sighed, lifting two fingers to rest on her forehead. "I will be taking the child now," she stated.

Oikawa felt Iwaizumi’s disquieted eyes rest on the back of his neck, and dread flooded down his limbs, humming at the ends of his fingers and toes.

“No.” Iwaizumi took a step forwards. 

His irises began to show icy white around the pupil, a thin band growing gradually bigger. Recognising the sight, Oikawa felt the first twinges of panic creeping up his chest. 

“Not this shit again,” he hissed at Iwaizumi, whose face twisted into a scowl. 

“I’ve got it under control,” Iwaizumi aggressively whispered back, the white bands thickening and thinning with every blink. 

“I can see that,” came the light answer from the stranger. 

Oikawa bit back a ‘nobody was talking to you,’ and plastered on a calm, slight smile. "I think it would be best for all of us if we could work out a mutually beneficial arrangement…"

His words faded. The stranger was moving, clearly not listening. 

Raising her bare forearm, a vein bulged out, until it began to bubble, the pale blue colour clearly visible beneath the stretched skin. 

"What the fuck is that."

Oikawa had no answer to Iwaizumi, watching as it grew to the size of a fist, darkening in colour with every jolt, as if attempting to escape the skin. With an abrupt slurp, it flattened out along her entire arm, still visible underneath the skin as a long, thin raised line, it darted back up her sleeve. 

Oikawa took a step back. The scent of power was pouring from every inch of the flowing clothing like an endless spring, but it wasn't the typical Breather smell. It smelt like dying lilies, sweet and overpowering. 

"Oikawa, take the child," Iwaizumi told him, and Oikawa, already on edge, whipped around. 

"Why should I?"

"I thought we were past this!" Iwaizumi snapped out, and his eyes widened, dumping the heir into his arms. "If I can't take her, you run, alright?"

Oikawa gripped the child maybe a bit too tightly, for it stirred, and he cursed. All he needed now was more screeching. Iwaizumi drew his sword hastily, stepping in front of Oikawa and driving forwards, towards the stranger. Looking up, the stranger quickly dodged past Iwaizumi's swipe. In the next trok, the liquid, shapeless thing burst through the stranger's forearm, and landed with a wet thunk on the ground. Oikawa immediately backed up several steps. Then it rose slightly, as if getting its bearings, and flowed rapidly towards Iwaizumi, latching onto the grass and pulling itself along the ground. 

She frowned as if confused by its behaviour, as Iwaizumi backed away.

"Oikawa-" came his abrupt call. 

Oikawa whirled to the side, watching as Iwaizumi tried to cleave through it, but it simply fastened itself to his sword, dribbling upwards and engulfing his wrist before he could drop it. Attempting to pull the gunk from his waist was futile. Within a blink, Iwaizumi’s entire body was swallowed by the oil. 

“Iwaizumi?” Oikawa spoke lowly, attempting to control his voice. It didn’t work, panic slitting the sides. He took a shocked step towards him, watching as Iwaizumi’s form crumpled to his knees.

“Iwa-chan?” 

Iwaizumi barely heard the voice, oil draining down and stuffing up his ears, eyes, smothering all his senses and his power. Panic rose in him, his fingers clawing into the dirt, trying to keep himself grounded, focused. He could feel his energy bound from his cloaked eyes to his covered feet, searching for an outlet, an escape for the building pressure. The oil dug into his lips, what felt like needles hooking through them and attempting to pull them backwards, to get into his mouth. Iwaizumi refused, hands squeezing around fistfuls of earth, the only thing he could rely on. 

It felt like he was boiling within his own body. He'd never had his power trapped like this before, never felt it riot so intensely underneath his skin like a rabid animal crashing desperately against the sides of its cage. Breathing was sticky, like he’d plunged his head into a vat of honey, and becoming more difficult by the second, his teeth buzzing and chattering with power demanding a release he couldn’t give it. 

Iwaizumi took the last inhale he could manage, fighting down hysteria, and began to concentrate. 

“You-“

Oikawa backed up a step, almost falling over Iwaizumi’s crumpled form. His gaze flashed around, shoulders rigidly bunched up around his ears. 

“Give up the child,” she intoned. “Or you both die, and I take the child regardless. You don't have to die here, and I don't wish to kill you. It would be a waste of knowledge." 

Oikawa’s arms tightened around the wailing baby. “How about…” he swallowed, glancing down at the blackened, quivering man that was the strongest warrior in the kingdom. “We make a deal -“

“No deals.”

“I’m a powerful Breather, I can be very useful-“

“Then where is your white? If you’re as powerful as all the rumours claim, you should have a large mark somewhere on your body. Show me.” 

Oikawa hesitated a split second too long. “Where my white is isn’t something I want to give up.” 

“No deals.” 

Oikawa closed his eyes, quietly inhaling. “Are you certain?”

“Open your mouth again and I won’t give you another chance to hand over the child. As fascinating a conversation would be with you, I don’t have time to barter. Maybe we could exchange stories another time, but not now. I know you don't want the responsibility of this child. I promise not to harm him.” 

Meeting the leader’s eyes, Oikawa silently nodded his understanding, shoulders dropping, his back straightening. Then he exhaled, a long, steady stream of breath that swam out into the air like a translucent ribbon, hovering and curling itself up into a spring-like shape. With stormy eyes, Tobio stared at it, then let out a giggle. 

She jerked backwards. “You can-“

She wasn’t able to finish his sentence. The spring uncoiled and snapped forwards, piercing her chest and continuing on straight through, now with crimson droplets hanging on the edges. It wound around rapidly and shot back through, weaving in and out of it like a whip, staining darker and darker every time. Her body collapsed to the ground as Oikawa’s breath threaded through, gulping up blood as it went. 

It returned to Oikawa, splurting blood onto his lips and diving back down into his lungs with the rest of it. Immediately, Oikawa set off into a coughing fit, his lungs rejecting the warm fluid utterly. The hot liquid burned the inside of his throat on the way out, and left him uncontrollably gulping down cool mouthfuls of air. 

“Fuck,” Oikawa cursed, gazing down at the baby, whose face was now smeared with red, to the left of his nose, above his right eyebrow, across his cheeks. 

Oikawa wiped his mouth, hastily turning around to kneel in front of Iwaizumi. Or, what was left of him. The oil had gripped him, and the beast in front of Oikawa was barely recognisable as a human anymore. 

“Are you still alive?” Oikawa asked, panicked words slipping over the blood coating his tongue. “Can you hear me? I need you to open your mouth so I can -“ 

A splitting agony arched across his neck, and Oikawa gasped, his free hand flying up to clamp over the wet gash in his neck. Blood began to spill over his fingers quickly, much too quickly for his liking, and utter horror clawed up from his stomach to his mind as he turned his head. 

“Ah, there’s your white. Born lucky, weren’t you?” 

The stranger was back on her feet, one less knife in hand. 

“How powerful are you really?” She questioned, prodding the holes in his chest, ones that were supposed to have gone through her heart. “You certainly do an excellent job of playing the hapless healer. Everyone who knows of you told me you had no fighting proficiency to speak of." 

“Fuck you,” Oikawa managed, bending over Iwaizumi. 

“You’re not trying to still calm his powers, are you? Would you kindly step away from him, as he’ll combust any second now and I don't want the heir dead.” 

“He won’t explode.” 

Oikawa placed the child down and with his newly free hand plunged it into the shining liquid. The slice in his neck throbbed as he searched for Iwaizumi’s jaw, the black goop latching onto his own wrist, pulling itself upwards with a speed Oikawa didn’t expect. Yanking his hand out, Oikawa tried to shake it off, but his strength was withering away rapidly with every drop of blood draining down the side of his neck. 

“It’s pointless trying to help him. I can heal you, if you give me the child.” She took a step forwards. "Please." 

Oikawa threw a desperate glance over Iwaizumi. His form was now visible through the coating of oil, but it seemed to be clumping around his left arm - but none of what he saw was going to help Oikawa. With the veins throbbing open in his neck, bleeding him out, he realised he was going to die.

A massive bang, like metal being dropped from a castle wall, deafened Oikawa, then Iwaizumi’s body was propelled violently forwards, almost to the feet of the stranger. Iwaizumi struggled to his feet, clasping the stump attached to his right shoulder. Below that, nothing. The oil slowly drained off of him, gathering at a puddle by his feet as he glowered at her. 

The stranger cocked an eyebrow. “Hm. Channelled all the power into your arm so when it forced its way out, it only destroyed a limb. I don’t think anyone expected you to be that smart.” 

Half-conscious, Iwaizumi stumbled forwards, hand clutching at the rapidly bleeding knob. He might’ve saved his life for now, but Oikawa saw the rate at which he was bleeding out, and it was far from good. Clenching his teeth together, Oikawa once again breathed out, his Breath not quite as visible at before, hanging glassy and brittle in front of his face. The end sharpened to a needle-fine point. 

This time Oikawa drove it up through her skull. Even before the stranger’s body crumpled to the ground, Oikawa was shuffling over to Iwaizumi, falling to his knees before him. 

“Quickly, stop your bleeding-“ 

Iwaizumi’s whole face was pinched up in pain, his eyes narrowed as he stared at Oikawa’s white-splashed neck. 

“But you’re-“

“I can’t heal myself and you can’t help me if you’re bleeding out too. Open your fucking mouth,” Oikawa spat out, throwing a glance at the stranger’s still-motionless body. “She's going to get up again.” 

Iwaizumi’s nod was feeble, but there, and he opened his mouth. 

_“ Dicio,”_ Oikawa whispered, and his breath left him. 

Iwaizumi gave a few stifled, choked cries, but stemming blood wasn’t that taxing of a task, and within twenty seconds Oikawa could breathe again. He pitched forwards, barely saving himself from a faceful of mud with one flimsy, quivering arm. 

“Shit...” 

Whatever strength he had left wasn’t helped by healing Iwaizumi. 

And then he heard the voice, the same slick tone.

“Would you stop trying the same trick over and over again? You know it doesn’t work.”

Oikawa cursed more viciously underneath his breath this time. Glancing over at Iwaizumi, he saw a heaving chest, and a hand that still visibly shook.

He had hoped that healing Iwaizumi would give them a chance to fight, maybe escape, but the oil had taken more out of him than he’d realised. Oikawa’s fingers clawed at his neck. Shit. His vision was trembling, his eyes missing his surroundings, and all he could hear was Iwaizumi’s laboured breaths beside him. He heard fabric tearing, and then an extra hand on his throat, rough and familiar, trying to press down a crumpled cloth over the open wound. 

“Turn towards me,” Iwaizumi muttered, his hand holding the side of Oikawa’s neck, and Oikawa did, leaning nearer to him. 

“You need to fight her,” Oikawa whispered. “Not be taking care of me.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes were narrowed, face contracted with another level of intense concentration Oikawa had never seen before. “I can’t,” he said, voice deepened with concern. “I’m…” 

He threw an anxious glance over his shoulder, where she was approaching, blade in hand, and gaze fixed beyond them, where Oikawa had laid down the heir. Oikawa closed his eyes, Iwaizumi’s hand burning against his skin.

And then, there was a scuffle behind Iwaizumi, followed by a yell and… a bark? Oikawa opened his eyes. 

“ _Serl,_ that’s that persistent little prick!” 

“Yahaba,” Iwaizumi murmured, his fazed stare moving with his actions. “But what about -“

Oikawa traced his line of sight, after the fight slowly drawing away from them, and he blinked, sure he was hallucinating. He’d lost too much blood. There was _not_ a six foot high six-legged spiked-back wolf with paws causing miniature earthquakes every time it landed. Its fur was a blend of black and blonde, its tail shorter and stubblier than a normal wolf's, and Oikawa suddenly recalled the name of the creatures rumoured to be in the Northern Dunes. 

“The giant ferqol? Is that actually there?” 

Iwaizumi glanced back at Oikawa, and despite Oikawa’s glazed vision, he could still see the clear alarm in his eyes. 

“Yahaba!” Iwaizumi called out. 

Yahaba broke away immediately and sprinted towards them, the ferqol covering his retreat with a particularly vicious snap of his jaws. He dropped to his knees beside him, grabbing his shoulder in a way Oikawa wouldn’t stand for if he wasn’t bleeding out. 

“Oikawa-senpai, tell me what I need to do. I can - “ he cut off, desperately trying to fix something around Oikawa’s neck. “-I don’t think cloth can stop the bleeding, and you’ve already lost so much-“ 

“Enough,” Oikawa spluttered out. “Do exactly as I tell you.” 

He highly doubted Yahaba could Breathe well enough to heal him but if the alternative was dying...

“Focus,” Oikawa choked out, dimly aware of wetness soaking through his cloak and sticking to his arm. “Close your eyes and -“

He coughed hard, spitting out white, droplets landing on Yahaba’s face. 

“Then what do I do? What are the words?” 

“The most basic -“ 

Oikawa inhaled with a judder, trying to think clearly. A incantation for a beginner, just enough to temporarily sew up the wound….

“Repeat carefully.”

“I will, just tell me what to say!” 

“ _Con-_ “ Oikawa had to pause, blinking fast, head spinning. “ _Consuo.”_

“That’s all? One word?” 

“Pronounce it-“ Oikawa swallowed, and the taste of iron blood was almost overwhelming. “Correctly. _Consuo_. Focus, say it and then-“

He could feel his consciousness waning, his vision burning away at the edges like a letter. 

“Open my mouth, and open yours. _Consuo_.” 

“Okay. Okay. I can do this.” 

Oikawa felt Yahaba’s hands grasping his face, praying open his mouth, but he barely needed to apply any force. His muscles were weak, limpness flowing fast through his limbs. 

“ _Consuo,”_ came a low whisper, and Oikawa’s mind was shocked out of its muddiness with the agony, the side of his neck feeling like it was unravelling every nerve, every tendon, ligament, muscle, arteries and veins splitting apart only to stretch out and stitch crudely back up again. 

Oikawa couldn’t even find the strength to scream. His head reeled, Yahaba’s face blurring as if behind a screen of smoke, and so did his stomach. He managed to careen to the side, and a second later he was violently spilling out the contents of his guts. 

“Oikawa-san? Oikawa-san, is that supposed to happen? Oikawa-san!” 

Fingers trembling, he lifted a hand to his neck and only met a streak of rough skin, as if the wound was hastily burned closed. 

“You’re an awful Breather,” he rasped out. 

“This is why I need you to train me!”

“Now is not the time to be telling me that!” Oikawa spat, ridding himself of most of the noxious taste in his mouth. “Help that thing, for the gods’ sake!”

"'The thing''s name is Kyoutani," Yahaba muttered, turning away.

Yahaba lowered his palm flat to the ground, and slowly began pulling a shape out of the earth, a long rod, and gradually it turned to a dull shine. Yahaba jumped up from his crouch and charged, spinning his new weapon around his hand, one end gradually growing sharper as he ran. 

Kyoutani was holding his own, a few bleeding wounds dotted on his flank, but his ribs were heaving with every breath. The stranger, untouched, wove around his attacks like fire dancing around the tree it was consuming, blinking in and out of sight at random intervals. Or perhaps that was because Oikawa kept nearly passing out, dark blots impeding his vision. The fight was too fast for his blood-lacking eyes to possibly follow.

Oikawa turned to Iwaizumi and realised he was passed out, slumped on the ground next to him.

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Oikawa hissed out, slapping the side of his face. 

He resisted the dizziness urging him to do the same, to lie down and be blissfully unconscious for a while. Yahaba and Kyoutani were young, as well as being idiots. There was only so long they could last against a more experienced, more powerful opponent. 

Iwaizumi didn’t stir, and Oikawa, in a flash of panic, pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, wondering if it was possible that his senses somehow missed Iwaizumi dying next to him. However, one pulse later revealed that they hadn’t, and Oikawa’s heart rate slowed. He wasn’t dying either - he would’ve sensed it by now. 

Which just meant he was being lazy.

“Iwa-chan!” 

Oikawa gripped him by the shoulder and shook him, hard. This time, Iwaizumi groaned, attempting to turn away and dislodge Oikawa’s hand. To which Oikawa shook him more forcefully. 

“Get up, Iwa-chan. You know those morons are going to die unless we guide them!” 

At his urgent tone, Iwaizumi’s eyes opened, and he pressed his one hand to his head. “I-“

His eyes snapped wide and his hand flew to his other arm - well, what was left of it. 

“ _Toas!_ My fucking arm-!”

“We don’t have time for you to grieve uselessly over your loss now,” Oikawa told him, scrambling unsteadily to his feet. He pointed over at the fight. “Look at them!” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes still appeared vacant as he peered over to them. “They seem to be doing okay-“

Oikawa grabbed his arm and heaved Iwaizumi to his feet. Everything was swaying around him, but that was okay. No big deal. Iwaizumi pitched forwards and almost fell, but Oikawa managed to catch him around his waist, and just about steady him.

"I don't think we're in a situation to help them," Iwaizumi murmured, hand closing weakly around Oikawa's shoulder. "We can barely stand."

Oikawa was too busy trying to bat away the fuzzy darkness at the edges of his sight to refute his point. “We have to do….. something!”

"Where's the child? Did she take him from you?"

"No, he's - somewhere - there!" Oikawa pointed over to where he'd left the child to try and heal Iwaizumi, and somehow the god damn creature who wouldn't shut up when there was absolute calm around him was simply blinking contentedly, kicking his legs free of the blanket. It really only supported Oikawa's spawn-of-the-devil theory more. 

"Protecting the heir is our priority," Iwaizumi murmured, kneeling unsteadily and attempting to wrap him back up in his blanket. 

"How about not letting two stupid young dumbasses get murdered in front of us?" Oikawa hissed out. 

Iwaizumi looked back over his shoulder at him. "Where did your cowardice go?"

"I like to be distanced from any deaths I'm responsible for - oh, shut up, we don't have time for this!"

Oikawa felt a bit of strength return to him, but it was too slow, and he feared if he used his Breath again for any length of time he'd definitely pass out. And he didn't want to depend on a half-conscious one-armed man to defend him. Maybe Iwaizumi had a point. What could they do to help? They'd just be in the way. 

"Take care of the child, I'm going to try and help," Iwaizumi said, calmly walking over to his sword, a little steadier. 

"You just said that-" 

"I might be able to distract the enemy for them," Iwaizumi offered by way of explanation.

Oikawa watched as he knelt to pick up his sword, pausing in the crouch, blinking quickly, and almost pitched over. It was pathetic, really. 

"Iwa-chan, you're too useless to even be a distraction right now." 

"Take. Care. Of. The. Heir." Iwaizumi gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet. The tip of the sword carved out a line in the dirt behind him. 

Scooping up the heir, Oikawa cast a glance over at the fight - it seemed to have slowed, exertion puffing up from everyone's mouths in small clouds, lethargy nipping at drained limbs. His gaze must have lingered too long, for the stranger's head snapped towards him, and although he was too far away to see her eyes, he knew they were trained at the child in his arms. 

Despite the stranger being at least two tree's lengths away, something told him to run. 

Oikawa backed away, trying to keep his balance with the extra load, trying to concentrate through the mistiness in his head alarm barely managed to pierce through. He didn't get very far - the stranger flickered, shimmering into a half-shadow, and flowed over to Oikawa, reassembling an inch away from him and grabbing at the heir. 

Instinctively, Oikawa lurched backwards out of her reach, losing his balance and falling into the dirt. He kept the heir close to his chest, scrambling away as best he could while the stranger strode forwards, her thin face looming over him. 

"Give me the child!"

Oil spilled out of her mouth, and manifested into a thin, short spear, directly into her palm. 

Oikawa shook his head numbly. "He stays with us."

Eyes flashing a deep, inky blue, the stranger drew back her hand, and Oikawa flinched, bracing for the inevitable. He heard a sickening, wet clunk, and he wondered if he was so in shock that he didn't yet feel the oily spear piercing his stomach. Opening his eyes, he instantly felt droplets run down his face, and saw the tip of a sword protruding through loose clothing, rapidly turning dark crimson. 

He stared at the spreading patch across white, the drips onto the ground for a moment until someone grabbed his arm. 

"Come on, we have to go! That'll only delay her!"

Yahaba's voice. 

The stranger staggered, and pitched over, laying limp on the ground beside Oikawa. Numbly, Oikawa got to his feet. She stank of an ancient, festering corpse in a moist ditch, and saliva flooded his mouth. He gulped it back down as he lurched away, leaning on Yahaba's shoulder. Don't throw up. Not now. 

Glancing back, he saw Iwaizumi yank the sword out of the stranger's back, unable to lift it but dragging the tip along the ground as he unsteadily followed them. Kyoutani bounded up beside him, and Iwaizuzmi gratefully leaned his weight on his back, sheathing his sword. In a few seconds, Kyoutani and Iwaizumi were level with them, and Oikawa transferred his weight onto Kyoutani as Yahaba leapt up onto the great back. 

"Come on, get on," Yahaba urged, and out of the corner of his eye Oikawa saw the stranger rising. 

"I can't stand without help, what makes you think I can climb up a ferqol the size of me?"

Kyoutani grumbled, a low thunderous noise, and knelt, so his back only reached up to Oikawa's chest. 

"He's still ridiculously big -"

He was cut off by Yahaba leaning over and snagging him underneath the armpits like a child, hauling him up. By the gods, how strong was this boy? Yahaba turned to Iwaizumi as Oikawa was recovering from the shame, but Iwaizumi shook his head, and managed to lean forwards and slide up onto his back with a lot more dignity than Oikawa's mounting. 

"Is everyone okay? We have to get moving," Yahaba instructed, throwing a worried glance backwards. 

Oikawa gripped the dark blonde fur with all the strength he had, as they lurched backwards, then forwards, as Kyoutani got to his paws. He heard a quiet curse from Iwaizumi behind him, but he didn't have time to look around. Kyoutani took off, and although Oikawa thought he was braced, his head still snapped backwards as Kyoutani began sprinting, muscles expanding and contracting smoothly with every bound. 

Oh no. He was _not_ going to grab onto Yahaba for support. He was the senior, the elder, the one with more experience and his own dignity to uphold! He would not be degraded so much as to rely on- 

A slight stumble had Oikawa’s body lifted off the back, momentarily suspended in midair, and with a yelp, he swallowed down his pride. One of his hands rose and caught onto Yahaba’s shirt. 

He glanced back to see how the one armed warrior was doing - and the answer was better than him. Iwaizumi’s hand was buried firmly in Kyoutani’s fur, almost twisted entirely around his fist, and his legs were steady against his flank. The world just wanted to stomp on his self-esteem today, didn’t it? 

Iwaizumi caught his eye, and lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t know how to ride?” 

“Shut up,” Oikawa spluttered back, much too flustered to make a proper attempt at a retort. 

He trained his eyes ahead of him, past Yahaba's back, trying to focus on the rush of brown, greens, sunlight blinding his vision for one spotted trok at a time, branches scratching up his arms and legs. 

"Where are we going?" he questioned loudly, and Yahaba inclined his head towards him.

"To the border. I'm assuming that's where you were heading to, wasn't it? To get out of the territory as quickly as possible?"

"Iwa-chan came up with that predictable plan," Oikawa replied, the words being gripped from his mouth by the wind. 

"Should we change direction?" Yahaba queried. 

"No," came Iwaizumi's strong, certain answer. "I know someone who can help us in a village we're heading to, if we can outrun her. After we meet them, we'll be able to vanish."

"Okay," was Yahaba's reply as Oikawa responded, "That sounds suspicious and illegal."

"We're already illegal. We're already going to be killed or tortured if she finds us. Neither of us have any family to blackmail us with."

Iwaizumi's answer was so practical it made Oikawa's remaining blood boil. 

"I appreciate the cheery reminder," Oikawa deadpanned. 

They rode for what was probably several hours, until the darkness had crept up on them and Oikawa could feel animal sweat soaking into his pants through the slicked fur. Breathing heavily, Kyoutani slowed to a stop, and they all quickly dismounted. Laying a hand on his heaving flank, Yahaba closed his eyes in concentration, and within a few seconds the great beast had folded in on itself, melting down into a human form. Kyoutani took the cloak offered by Iwaizumi, wrapped himself up in it, and wordlessly curled up on the ground. 

"He gets tired in that form easily," Yahaba explained. 

"Yeah. No fucking wonder," Iwaizumi commented, casting his gaze around. "Do you think we're far enough away?"

Oikawa glanced down at Kyoutani, who was motionless. "It'll have to be, unless one of you wants to carry Kyoutani further. By “one of you,” I mean Yahaba, because I'm carrying the child, and Iwa-chan is now a cripple. " He deliberately drew his eyes to Iwaizumi's stump. It was a sorry sight. 

All that was left of Iwaizumi’s arm was a pathetic three-inch stump, stopping at exactly where the tattoo ended. They gathered around it in a circle and stared dismally at the dark crimson soaked into the side of his tattered, blackened shirt. 

“I don’t suppose you can grow back limbs, can you?” Iwaizumi questioned Oikawa, rubbing his hand over it uncomfortably. 

“I may have a god complex but even I can’t perform miracles," Oikawa replied, squinting at the smooth end. "But I did a great job on sewing up all the loose veins and arteries and stopping you from bleeding out."

"Yeah. Thanks for that."

"What does having one arm feel like?" Kyoutani asked sleepily from the ground, and Yahaba dug his toe into his side. 

"You can't ask that, it's rude," he hissed, but Iwaizumi appeared unfazed. 

"Odd. I keep trying to move it but it's not there to move."

Kyoutani nodded thoughtfully, then closed his eyes again. 

"How did you save yourself?" Yahaba inquired, eyes scrunched up. "We saw the oily thing cover you, but then it only imploded on your arm. How did you do it?"

"Oh, the oil didn't make him explode," Oikawa said dryly. "That was all him, and his own lack of control."

Iwaizumi shot a glare over at him, and Oikawa shrugged, throwing his hands up in the air. "Deny it all you like, Iwa-chan, but it's the truth, the shameful truth."

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi turned to Yahaba. "I think the oil was holding in my magic, and my body can't handle that amount of power without a release. It was going to consume me from the inside out, so I concentrated and pushed it all into my arm." He lifted his hand and pointed at the scar. 

“This can’t be destroyed,” Iwaizumi explained. “It retaliates with the same amount of force given to it. So when my magic started to incinerate my arm, it got to the mark, and the mark responded with the power needed to cancel it out. It disintegrated the magic along with my arm.” 

“Instead of your whole body.” 

Iwaizumi nodded. “It's irritating, but I’ll live. Oikawa's way more annoying than one lost arm."

Hearing a quiet snort from Kyoutani, Oikawa peered at him, cocking a hand on his hip. “Did I hear something?”

“I heard nothing,” Yahaba added, looking like he was holding in a giggle of his own. 

Oikawa decided to ignore his blasphemous behaviour once and one time only. 

"As much as I like the attention on me, there's something vitally important that we're all overlooking." Oikawa paused for dramatic effect, gaze circling around the trio. 

"Why-" Iwaizumi started.

"Why were you two following us in the first place?" Oikawa interrupted, pointing accusingly at Yahaba, then lowering his finger to point at Kyoutani, who he was pretty sure was asleep. "You stalkers."

Yahaba lifted his chin. "Perhaps we simply happened to be travelling in the same direction."

"And Kuroo wasn't with you? Don't try that shit. Were you following us all of this way?" Iwaizumi questioned. 

After a few troks of Iwaizumi's hard stare, Yahaba folded. "Yes," he confirmed. "I thought you'd spot us long before now."

Oikawa refused to look at Iwaizumi, but he knew what his eyes were saying. I told you. 

"Thanks for the help," Iwaizumi said, and Yahaba heaved a sigh of relief.

"Actually… we have something to ask of you in return," Yahaba started, and Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest. 

"No."

"You haven't even heard me out yet," Yahaba argued back, hands rising in agitation.

"I heard what you had to say in the cave. No.” 

"I saved your life!" Yahaba protested.

"Very badly, and only with instruction from me," Oikawa said flatly, tilting his face away from Yahaba. "If I wasn't there, you wouldn't have been able to save anyone. So I'm responsible for my own saving, thank you very much."

Yahaba blinked, and Oikawa knew he'd got him with his flawless logic. Shrugging, Oikawa rested a hand on his hip, fluttering the other one in the air. "You can leave now."

For a moment, Oikawa believed he'd won. Yahaba stooped down to Kyoutani, gently shaking his shoulder to rouse him, and murmured something too quiet for Oikawa to hear. Kyoutani sat up, shaking the fog from his eyes, and got up, wrapping the cloak tightly around himself. 

Oikawa felt Iwaizumi's eyes on him. He stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. If Iwaizumi wanted to feel guilty about it, then that was his problem, and Oikawa wasn't about to make it his. Just like he wasn't going to make this kid his issue either. 

Despite his efforts, Yahaba still turned his imploring eyes to Iwaizumi, whose green eyes softened, much to Oikawa's irritation. Kyoutani followed suit, the sharp edges by the corner of his mouth and eyes mellowing out.

"Oh, no," Oikawa interjected, stepping forwards and seizing Iwaizumi's shoulder. "No, no, no. Absolutely not. You can't appeal to him now. I've made my decision for both of us."

“Please, Iwaizumi-san,” Yahaba pleaded. “You owe us. We need mentorship to survive.”

Oikawa saw Iwaizumi's mouth line lighten, sympathy tugging at the edges, and he panicked. No, no. One child was enough to take care of. 

“And Kyoutani owed me,” Oikawa inputted viciously, throwing a sharp warning glance over at Iwaizumi, who ignored it just like Oikawa had ignored him earlier. “So we’re even now.”

“But we’re not,” Yahaba pointed out. "And no amount of talking will change the fact that I didn't have a role to play in your healing."

Oikawa exhaled heavily. “Can’t you just ask for something easier, like gold or one of my fingers? How about Iwa-chan's other arm? He's already useless now.”

Continuing to ignore him, Iwaizumi surveyed Kyoutani. “You sure you want to do this?”

“I wouldn’t have travelled all this way otherwise,” Kyoutani replied surely. 

"Are you willing to follow my every instruction, even if you don't understand it? Are you willing to endure the training? It's going to be difficult," Iwaizumi informed him. "I need you to understand what you're committing to."

"Yes." Kyoutani's eyes were hard. "I've heard stories of your training. I want to experience it for myself."

“Then I’ll take you on as my apprentice,” Iwaizumi told him, and saw the dimples of a repressed grin appear on Kyoutani’s cheeks.

“You won’t regret this, I swear,” he muttered out all in a rush, turning both forearms upwards to Iwaizumi in a traditional gesture of submission. 

Iwaizumi gazed at him seriously, nodding after a second. “I hope you won’t either.” 

He placed his hand on Kyoutani’s right forearm, sealing the contract in heavy silence. 

Yahaba looked expectantly over at Oikawa, who felt his mouth tighten, shriveling up into a displeased pout. "You cunning little imp. Did you send that woman to try and kill us just so you'd have leverage over us?"

Yahaba looked taken aback for a second, but quickly composed himself. "And so what if we did?" He shot back, voice laced with sarcasm. 

Oikawa couldn't hold back a vicious grin. "Cheeky fucker, aren't you?"

"Oikawa…" Iwaizumi nudged his ribcage.

Oikawa sighed, pressing his fingertips against his forehead, hopefully embodying the image of thoughtfulness. Eventually, under the weight of three expectant, impatient stares, he placed his hands on his hips and heaved another deep, long sigh. 

“I suppose I’ve no choice now, do I? I don’t want to deprive you of the company of your friend here.”

“You have a heart?” Iwaizumi questioned. 

“I’m not finished,” Oikawa announced. “I guess it would also be cruel to send you back to that black-haired demon bandit with your tail between your legs just as pathetic and useless as before.” 

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa, as if about to warn him from his words, but he stopped. It appeared that Yahaba was already used to Oikawa’s overly harsh words, because Yahaba was nodding in agreement, unfazed. Good. He needed to be tough to survive Oikawa’s training. Not that he'd trained many successfully before. But he knew he wasn't going to be soft on him. 

“I want to be useful," Yahaba declared. "I don't care how hard you are on me. If it makes me stronger faster, I'll do it."

"You're welcome," Oikawa finished, holding out his hand, palm facing the earth. 

Yahaba looked at it blankly. "I don't understand."

"That's 'I don't understand, Master,' to you," Oikawa corrected him, eyes flat and cold. "Kiss my hand and we've got a deal."

This time, Iwaizumi did intervene. "Oikawa, for the Lady's sake, stop acting like this."

"Who's acting?" Oikawa asked coolly, eyes not leaving Yahaba's surprised face. "You said you'd do anything I said to become stronger. First thing you need to do is swallow your pride."

"Are you serious?" Yahaba questioned, but before the words were out of his mouth Oikawa knew he knew the answer. 

Kyoutani stepped forwards, a low rumble starting in the back of his throat, and Oikawa's gaze flicked over to Iwaizumi. "Aren't you going to control your new apprentice?"

Kyoutani bore his canines at Oikawa, and Iwaizumi gritted his teeth, but reached out to Kyoutani. 

"Kyoutani," Iwaizumi said softly, laying a hand on his arm. "Let Yahaba handle this one."

Kyoutani angrily shook off the hand, eyes blazing at Oikawa. "But he's disrespecting him for no reason. He doesn't have to do that - it doesn't make sense!"

Oikawa simply tilted his head and smiled at him. "It's an initiation. To let me know that he's serious about this."

Seeing Yahaba's jaw clench, Oikawa turned his smile to him, wriggling his fingers. "Hurry along, will you? We don't have all day." 

With a firm exhale, Yahaba stepped forwards, took Oikawa's hand and very quickly touched his mouth off of the back of Oikawa's hand. Oikawa grinned. 

"Welcome, my apprentice." 

He could feel hostility bristling from all around him - almost strong enough to have a smell. It was impressive really, how much loathing Yahaba could summon up for him. Kyoutani padded over to Yahaba, knocking his shoulder against his and keeping it close, speaking lowly. Nodding, Yahaba gave Oikawa one last acknowledgement before turning his back on him. 

Iwaizumi's eyes skidded sideways, back over to Oikawa. "We need to set up camp for the night or we'll freeze."

"You need to make more blood or you'll die," Oikawa answered dryly.

"Oikawa."

"My apologies! I thought we were stating the obvious."

Iwaizumi frowned at him, eyebrows lowering darkly. “Why are you being such an asshole again?” 

Oikawa felt his eyes narrow, despite himself. 

“I don’t like being pressurised,” he said starkly. “Learning to Breathe is nowhere near safe. If Yahaba dies, it’s on your head. You shouldn’t have taken Kyoutani on as your apprentice either.” 

He saw Iwaizumi’s cheek flex, his jaw stiffening. “I don’t like being told what I should do or shouldn’t have done. I made the choice I thought was right.”

“Sounds like we’re on the same page then.” 

There was a moment of frosty silence. Neither of them looked away, as if whichever one bowed out would lose the argument. And it sure as hell wouldn’t be Oikawa. 

“Nobody forced you to do anything. You could’ve still refused.” 

“He would’ve followed us around and you know it. There might’ve been a chance of them both giving up, but once you accepted that Northern boy there was no way Yahaba would’ve given in.” 

“So?” Iwaizumi retorted back. “You don’t care if he has to hang around.” 

“I care that he’d annoy me,” Oikawa answered shortly, placing his hands on his hips. “This way he’ll be slightly less irritating.” 

“But you’ll have to train him.” 

“He doesn’t know what real Breather training is like. He’ll drop out soon enough,” Oikawa told him, although he was recalling the solid, proud look in Yahaba’s steady gaze and set jaw as he spoke. “And if you’ve any sense you’ll make sure that Kyoutani gives up too. I’m sure you don’t want him leading the same life as you.” 

“That’s why I want to mentor him,” Iwaizumi replied.

“He’ll end up just like you,” Oikawa said. “If you don’t believe me now, just wait. I’ll be proven right in the end, like I always am.” 

They set up camp nearby, the silence between them aching. Kyoutani and Yahaba spoke casually to each other, respectfully to Iwaizumi, and rarely to Oikawa. Oikawa tried not to let it affect him. He knew he deserved it, but it was how it had to be. Iwaizumi was wrong. They had all turned out just like Oikawa, except unluckier - well, those that had survived. And now Yahaba could too. 

Oikawa’s brow creased. He felt himself drifting back into memories, of pride and high-fives, of pleads, of progress, of success and death. A shiver vibrates through his body. Not now. The past helps no-one. 

He needed a distraction. 

Oikawa’s eyes flickered over to Iwaizumi, drawing over his body more warily than usual. “You aren’t going to explode randomly, are you? I don’t want blood ruining my clothes.” 

Iwaizumi squinted at his bleached clothes . “You have blood all over them already.”

“Yes, but my blood is stylish,” Oikawa replied. “Yours…. isn’t, to say the least.” 

“I’m sorry for my ordinary coloured blood,” Iwaizumi deadpanned. “Luckily, I don’t plan on exploding anytime soon. I want to eat first.” 

“I forbid you to explode after you’ve eaten,” Oikawa commanded. “I refuse to have my robes sprayed with the remnants of your dinner.” 

“I’m not going to explode.”

“Probably not, anyways,” Yahaba added slyly. “You can’t say for sure that you won’t. You didn’t expect to be at risk of exploding before that person came along, did you?”

“Are you already learning to be a smartass from that asshole?” Iwaizumi replied, but there was a smile in his voice, a softness to the line of his mouth. 

Oikawa rolled his eyes. Did Iwaizumi have a soft spot for all of the youth? No wonder Kyoutani won him over so easily. 

“He’s only an apprentice,” Oikawa clarified, unable to stop himself jumping in. “One day he’ll learn the methods to stop being horrible at insulting people.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Kyoutani questioned. “That he’s not good at insulting people.”

“It’s one of the great flaws of this world, actually. It’s necessary for a Breather to survive.”

The cleft in Kyoutani’s forehead deepened. “I don’t see how-“

“He’s bullshitting,” Iwaizumi said, and shot a look across at Oikawa. “Take this mentoring seriously.”

“Maybe I would if I wasn’t forced into doing it,” Oikawa retorted back, and Iwaizumi straightened, crossing his arm over his chest. He held it for a second before glancing down, remembering his other arm was gone, and dropped it. 

“Right. Come on Kyoutani, Yahaba. We’re going hunting. Oikawa, you can stay here and be bitter about your choices alone.”

He grabbed his sword and marched off, Yahaba and Kyoutani trailing after him, armed with a bow and nothing. Oikawa turned his back and refused to watch them go.

After a few minutes in silence, he also strayed from the fire, child in hand, searching, discontent.

They returned, Iwaizumi in undoubtedly better humour, Yahaba and Kyoutani chatting amongst themselves, two racdi slung over their backs. Iwaizumi stopped next to where Oikawa was sitting, feeding Tobio a mixture of mashed berries and boiled roots. 

“Do you know how to strip off the skin?”

“Of course. I’m not an idiot,” Oikawa answered, still not looking up. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m sort of busy at the moment.” 

“I meant after you’re done. Will you help us?”

Oikawa wiped away a bit of green gross food from the corner of the heir’s mouth. “Fine.”

There was a beat of silence before Iwaizumi spoke. “Thanks.”

Exhaling, Oikawa gestured lazily over to his right. “You were gone so long I made that.”

Laying his quarry on the log beside Oikawa, Iwaizumi circled around to his other side and picked up the slim, rough bowshaft, unstrung as of yet. It was lacking a polish, the crude knife shavings still visible, but the shape was perfect, the bend stiff, springy.

“You made this?” Iwaizumi asked, glancing over to Oikawa, eyebrows quirked upwards. 

“Don’t sound so surprised. I had to learn a craft at some stage in my life,” Oikawa replied, glancing over at Iwaizumi as he gently tested the tension in it, bending it against his thigh with his worn hand. 

“Where did you find skall wood around here?”

Oikawa tapped his nose. “I have senses.” 

Iwaizumi gazed at him a moment, then snorted and set the bow down. “It’s nicely balanced. We’ll find a string for it at the next village. You can test it out sometime.”

“Oh, no.” Oikawa pressed his lips together. “It’s for you.”

Iwaizumi blinked. “Why?”

He was really going to make him spell it out, wasn’t it? Oikawa dropped his gaze. “I thought it might make hunting easier.” 

Iwaizumi tilted his head. "I have one arm. How am I supposed to draw it?"

Oh, _fuck._

"I - You didn't lose you arm that long ago!" Oikawa protested. "I forgot, okay? It's an easy mistake anyone could make!"

Letting out a chuckle, Iwaizumi set the bow down again. "It's alright. It's idiotic, but alright. I plan to visit a friend of mine who builds replacement limbs. Maybe one day I'll be able to use it. In the meantime, is it alright if Kyoutani uses it to train with?"

"As long as he doesn't break it or dirty it in any way, then yes."

"I'm sure he'll try his best not to. Thanks,” Iwaizumi said carefully, as if he expected Oikawa to turn it around on him. Oikawa couldn’t blame him for it. “Again.” 

He paused. Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed for a split second, and Oikawa could feel his lingering question. “Never thought I’d say that to you twice in one year, never mind one day.”

“What can I say? I’m just the sweetest person,” Oikawa told him. 

He saw Iwaizumi’s eyes curl up for a long moment, crinkles lining out his amusement, before he turned away. But Oikawa’s gesture had worked - the tension had released somewhat, and more importantly, Oikawa didn’t have to say that he was sorry. 

Dinner wasn’t long in the making, even with Iwaizumi unable to help properly, his frustrations aired with hissed curses underneath his breath. Kyoutani and Yahaba were well used to hunting and preparing their own meals, so before long, makeshift bowls sculpted from bark were being passed around, full of boiled meat and whatever edible plants they could find. Oikawa had thrown in some herbs he'd scoured from the undergrowth, and he had to say, he was damn pleased with the outcome. 

Putting aside his empty bowl, Iwaizumi paused, and frowned, his hand crossing his chest to tap at his scar at the end of his stump. Oikawa’s eyes skidded across to him, resting on his furrowed eyebrows, his downturned mouth, and finally the paleness of his fingers where he covered his scar. It was cute, really, how Iwaizumi’s emotions could be read so easily. Some people may even call it stupid. Some people like Oikawa. 

Iwaizumi was so absorbed in… whatever he was doing that he didn’t even pick up on Oikawa’s gaze. Oikawa shook his head, his mind turning to how he was going to wrangle the truth of what was happening out of Iwaizumi afterwards. 

He had no idea the full extent of the scar’s significance or powers, but by the gods, he was going to find out and write it down. And use it to exploit to his advantage… somehow, somewhere down the line. 

By the time Iwaizumi finally let go of it, and his expression eased out, the last sparks of the fire were dying, Yahaba and Kyoutani bundled together on the other side. 

“Does it hurt?” Oikawa dropped casually, glancing at his stub. 

“Only sometimes.” Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not like you to be concerned over someone else’s wellbeing.” 

“It’s extremely in character for me,” Oikawa countered. “My dear Iwa-chan, did you forget that I’m a healer? My business is others’ suffering.”

“Good to know.” 

The suspicion was still held thick and firm in Iwaizumi’s voice. But let the gods be damned, Oikawa was not going to let that deter him. 

“Does it happen to hurt enough that you clutch at it for a full ten troks?” Oikawa leaned forwards. “The fire had almost burnt out by the time you were done.” 

Something in Iwaizumi’s eyes cleared. “Oh, so that’s what this is about. Why didn’t you just tell me that from the beginning? I was talking with someone.” 

Oikawa blinked. “You can communicate with that scar?” 

“Yes.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Someone who’ll help us. I know where to go next.” 

“Truly, could you possibly be any more cryptic and vague?”

“You, of all people, can’t accuse me of that.” 

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Stop attacking me for two seconds and tell me what I need to know.” 

“Daichi says he can help us out, as long as we make it to where he’s hiding out. He can’t risk suspicion by leaving the village, but if we go there, it’ll be okay.”

“How long will it take to get there?” Oikawa inquired. “And it better not be longer than a week. If it is, I’m going to strangle either you or Yahaba before we reach it. I will spare Kyoutani as long as he doesn’t interfere.” 

“Calm yourself, it’s only four days away, if we don’t rest as often as we have been doing.” 

“Ughhhhhhhhh, that’s so long,” Oikawa complained. “Not a strangling offence, but close enough.” 

Looking like he was about to berate Oikawa, instead Iwaizumi flinched abruptly, his other hand flying over to where his missing arm should be. Oikawa’s gaze flicked across to him, and he shook his head, swallowing hard. 

“Sorry. It’s just… weird.”

Leaning his elbows on his knees, Oikawa bent forwards. “I can smooth it over better. Oikawa Tooru never leaves a job unfinished. Even if it was done when I was bleeding out and dying.” 

“It’s fine. It doesn’t really hurt,” Iwaizumi answered lowly, twisting the end of the sleeve around his hand. “It’s only… new. I’ll get used to it.”

“Well, you’ve got no other choice,” Oikawa said brightly. “Better an arm than your life.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Iwaizumi replied, reaching for another bowl of food. 

Placing it on his knees, Iwaizumi frowned deeply, gripping the loose sleeve below his scarred stump. He turned his back to them, and Oikawa could see his shoulders fold inwards, hunching protectively. His gaze dropped. 

“I’m going to train you,” Oikawa announced. 

Shaking his head, Iwaizumi rotated back around to meet his eyes. “Where did that come from?”

“From the fact that you blow up when you lose control of your magic,” Oikawa answered with raised eyebrows. “I would’ve thought even your half bear brain would’ve realised that that isn’t good. You only have three limbs left.” 

“It’s fine if it can get out,” Iwaizumi argued. “You don’t need to train me. It's only when I'm covered in whatever sort of oil cage that woman used that I explode.” 

“Even worse if it gets out! That means I’m in more danger,” Oikawa shot back. “I’m teaching you control.” 

“I can control myself.”

“Physically, maybe. Emotionally? Perhaps, but doubtful. But magically? You’re a mess.” 

Iwaizumi scowled downwards into his stew. “I am not.” 

“If denial is the best argument you have against it, then I’m right, and you know it. I’m trying to help you for once! Don’t pass up this opportunity.” 

“Again, you’re only helping me because it’s beneficial to you.” 

“What’s wrong with that?” Oikawa questioned, indignant. “You benefit, I benefit, it’s perfect symbiosis.” 

A deep sigh was dragged out of Iwaizumi, but he found himself lacking any more excuses. 

“Fine,” he relented, lifting his gaze to see a smirk spread over Oikawa’s face. “If I explode during training, it’s your fault.” 

“I knew you’d be able to see reason eventually,” Oikawa said brightly, smiling smugly over at him. “Although, I have to say, I expected you to take a lot longer to understand the situation.”

Iwaizumi chose to chew on a tough piece of meat and glower back. 

“Then I'm going to train you in physical combat. You’re pathetically weak without your Breath.” 

“Without my Breath I’m dead,” Oikawa reminded him. “So I don’t see how that’s a problem. I’m always going to have my Breath to use, or it fails and I’m dead. Even you can grasp that.” 

“I mean when you’re using it to attack. What if someone attacks you then?” 

“I’ll probably die.” 

“Do you see my point?”

“If I die, I die.” 

“You can’t rely on one thing to keep you alive.”

“Why not? It’s worked so far.” 

"Aren't you a rarity? Aren't most Breathers dead by thirty?"

"Only because they're idiots and try to save any old dying moron they come across. I, on the other hand, am much more intelligent. I use my gift wisely, even before my common sense kicked in. I suppose I'm just a humble Breather genius."

"Every time I think it isn't possible to despise you more, you open your mouth and come out with some new bullshit." 

"It's my best talent," Oikawa bragged. 

“Debatable. I think your best talent is shutting up.” 

Oikawa huffed out a breath, the edges of it curling up in the heat. “You're ruder than me, and you have the hypocrisy to think that I'm mean to Yahaba.” 

Was it Oikawa’s imagination, or did the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth curve upwards? It must be a trick of the light, Oikawa decided. 

“Possibly,” Iwaizumi conceded, and Oikawa dignified it with an enthusiastic nod. 

Their tongues stilled, and silence flooded back in, not quite as suffocating as before. Oikawa felt like he could breathe easier now. Not that he had been uncomfortable. Nobody could make him feel out of place. He was one step underneath omnipresent, remember? 

Ha! Like someone as dumb as Iwaizumi could make him feel unease. 

As if summoned by his thoughts, Iwaizumi’s voice broke through the darkness. 

"You didn't have to make him do that."

"What was that?"

"You didn't have to make Yahaba kiss your hand. There were other ways to get him to beat back his pride, which wasn't an issue in the first place. He admired you; now I think he despises you."

Oikawa tilted his head back, staring at the stars. "I suppose you think I did it because of my ego."

"You're giving me no other explanation."

Lowering his head, Oikawa found Iwaizumi's dark eyes, glinting green as yellow light washed over his face. "Do you want one?" 

Iwaizumi held his gaze, sparks from the fire flying up in the wind. "If you're willing to give one."

With half-lidded eyes, Oikawa nodded. He was, since Iwaizumi was willing to listen. "I've tried to train others before. But Breathing can be deadly if it's not handled properly. That's why there's so few of us. I need Yahaba to listen to me, to fear me, to react to my instruction without thinking. Any hesitation leads to death."

Iwaizumi surveyed him closely. "And what if you give the wrong instruction?"

Oikawa's breath stuttered. "I don't."

From Iwaizumi's silence, he knew he could see through his lie. Maybe he heard the brittleness in his voice, maybe he picked up on the way Oikawa's left eye narrowed as he forced out the smooth untruth. Maybe he was spending too much time with him. 

"People make mistakes. We have to learn to live with them," Iwaizumi said gently, too gently. 

Oikawa despised his patience. He wished he would get angry, call him an overconfident dick, curse his family, and Oikawa would smirk in his face, hating himself. It was never pleasant, but it was familiar, and the familiar was easy. 

"I suppose you know all about it," he replied snarkily, knowing he was being cruel, but he couldn't meet Iwaizumi's eyes while speaking. 

Iwaizumi took a moment to answer, and when Oikawa glanced up again, he was regarding the fire, arm crossed protectively over his stomach. His eyes were far away. 

"Yes," he said slowly. "I suppose I do."

He reached down and threw another log on the fire. Oikawa didn't have the coldness of heart to make another remark, and didn't have the warm courage to ask him about it. So he sat there, drinking in the stinging heat of the flames against his face, knees, palms, and concentrated. Usually, his Breath senses only extended so far as to people dead or dying, but if he focused enough...

Iwaizumi smelled like a full garden in the depth of summer, felt like the crunch of autumn leaves in his hand, tasted like melting hailstones. Oikawa's eyes flicked across to him, and to his surprise, Iwaizumi was watching him too. 

He stood. "I'm going to check on the heir. Will you take first watch?"

Oikawa nodded, unconsciously tracking how he moved, the fluid, sure, deft motion of every muscle and limb. He was a gladiator alright, through and through. 

"Goodnight."

His voice made Iwaizumi pause, looking back at Oikawa over his shoulder. He might've smiled - it was too dark for Oikawa to tell, but he got a faint whiff of lily blossom. 

"Goodnight, Oikawa."

Iwaizumi turned back around, and Oikawa's eyes followed him until he was overshadowed by the darkness. He only realised he had been holding his breath when he faced the fire again, letting it out in one continuous stream, watching the flames curl it up at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying reading all of your theories, especially at this point since I still can change certain things if I want to... ;)  
> I hope you liked it, and I'll see you in the next update :)


	4. Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I don't really have much to say about this chapter, just hope you like it! :)

They didn’t stay in one village longer than a day. Two days was dangerous. The land was in turmoil from the loss of a steady king, whether he was liked or not, Torem had brought stability. From local gossip, Aecus had claimed the attack, hanging flags on the outside and making their presence known amongst the king's former subjects. No news of violence against the people reached them in Katachi, which meant that either they were there with the intent to rule, or they were good at sealing people's tongues shut. 

It stirred up unease in Oikawa, but there was nothing he could do. He could just hope that no ravaging bandits chose to attack their party, or the stranger trying to kidnap the heir again. 

They were travelling farm-hands, labourers setting up camp outside the villages, trading services for whatever they could get. Oikawa consistently refused to do any manual labour, citing it as "an utter waste of my talents and time," instead choosing to schmooze around the markets and borderline verbally steal food from any merchants not sharp enough to keep up with his tongue. Time and time again, Iwaizumi would leave their borrowed cabin in the morning and call out to Oikawa to take care of the heir, to which Oikawa would roll his eyes expectantly over to Yahaba. 

"Oikawa-san, is nappy-changing really part of my Breather training?"

"Are you daring to question my expertise?"

"No, but it seems very-"

“Exploitative?” Iwaizumi suggested. “Can you be surprised about that?” 

"It's essential," Oikawa affirmed. "We have to adapt to unpleasant smells and air textures as our senses sharpen. This is your conditioning."

Yahaba stared at the child and sighed. Acceptance. As if to seek Iwaizumi’s aid, he glanced over, but Iwaizumi held up his hand apologetically, next to the doorway. 

“Sorry, kid. Someone’s gotta do it.”

Iwaizumi slowly adjusted to living with one hand, although Oikawa sometimes caught him rubbing the end of his stump, as if trying to convince his mind that it was truly gone. At times, Oikawa was woken by Iwaizumi groaning in muffled pain, biting down on his hand to stop himself from vocalising what Oikawa assumed was a scream. These later times, Oikawa had tried to help him, but his pain wasn’t real and his Breath wouldn’t leave him. There was nothing left to heal. Not much was spoken in those dark nights, but Oikawa saw the appreciation in Iwaizumi’s eyes. 

The loss of his arm didn’t seem to affect his performance much in battle though, as he trained Kyoutani in mainly hand to hand combat (despite his obvious disadvantage, he still managed to out-grapple poor Kyoutani) but occasionally allowed him to practice using whatever weapon they came across. 

Oikawa has his own cross to bear in the form of Yahaba, who turned out to be quite a bit more willing than Oikawa had expected. He didn’t even have to admonish him that badly after messing up, because it appeared like Yahaba was giving himself a much harder time than Oikawa could ever offer him. He practiced daily for hours, spinning his Breath around his hands - fingers were far too advanced - and adjusting to commanding it, to the sense of his lungs pinching inwards while it moved freely outside his body. With training, a seasoned Breather like Oikawa could enter a state of mediation and slow their heart rate for the more taxing healing tasks. Oikawa intended for Yahaba to hit five minutes before long, such was his process. 

He still couldn’t heal anything more than a bird’s broken leg, but hey, it was better than a lizard. 

Oikawa was hauled from his thoughts by a low hiss, and he glanced downwards, eyes catching on the dribble of blood down the side of Yahaba's hand. Huh. Maybe Yahaba had more talent than he first thought. He hadn't expected him to be able to make his Breath substantial enough to hurt himself yet. 

"Try to time your heartbeat to the movement of your Breath," Oikawa instructed, and he demonstrated briefly, flicking his Breath around his thumb. "Try to keep it as soft as you can."

Drawing his breath back into him, Yahaba exhaled heavily, sucking on his wound. "Oikawa-san, do you think I have enough potential to master Breathing? I know I'm improving, but I learned to shapeshift Kyoutani much more quickly than this."

"You're comparing that to Breathing?" Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest. 

"It requires just as much skill as Breathing," Yahaba protested. "You won't know anyways."

"Show me your white. Then I'll tell you how much potential you have."

Yahaba hesitated for a moment, then rolled up his trouser leg, where a circular patch of his skin was stained white, just below his knee. It didn't wrap around the back of his leg, around the size enclosed by Oikawa's fingers if he placed his thumb and first finger touching. 

Oikawa examined it in silence, which Yahaba hastily broke into. "What are you thinking, Oikawa-san?" He dropped the material. "Is it big enough for me to even be a  _ duogenus _ ?"

Under his earnest gaze, Oikawa wished he could lie to him and tell him that it didn't matter. He pressed his lips together. "Back in my study in the castle, I had a few books on people like you, the  _ duogenii _ . I assume you've noticed already since you've more than two brain cells, but as you become stronger in Breathing, your shapeshifting abilities will falter. From the looks of it, I'd say you will either become a strong Breather, or shapeshifter. Both is impossible."

Yahaba sprung to his feet, the hope draining from his face. "Are you - but aren't people like me rare? How is that recorded? How do they know?"

Oikawa shook his head. "You aren't as rare as you think you are. It's just highly unusual for people to realise they have two abilities - after all, your white is like everyone else's. It's even more uncommon for people to make it known that they're  _ duogenus _ ."

"But -" Yahaba's expression fell, his hazel eyes dimming. "There has to be a way - Kyoutani relies on me to shapeshift him when he needs it, and if I can't…"

"I'm trying to be as gentle as I can here," Oikawa said, tapping a finger against his arm. "But we're wasting time. The Puhro have more modifiable genes than the rest of us, doesn't that make it easier? You don't have to be at the level you were at shapeshifting." Oikawa paused. "You weren't that skilled at shapeshifting either. Maybe it'll take a while for your abilities to maximise out."

Yahaba flushed, nails digging into his palms. "I did the best I could to improve my shapeshifting. I'm sorry if it's not up to your standards."

"Don't pretend like it was up to yours either," Oikawa replied, smiling thinly. "Just feel lucky that you never developed your Breathing abilities much. There's a reason why there aren't many of us, and it's mostly because we kill ourselves accidentally, rather than those anti-magic  _ ikols.  _ It's such a fun life."

Yahaba stared at the ground, eyebrows furrowed, for a few moments. 

"Are you going to give up now?" Oikawa asked sweetly. "Maybe run back to your cozy bandit family? Continue to rob peasants, except without a king to keep you in line?"

Raising his head, Yahaba looked at him, the line of his mouth hard and his eyes obstinate. "Do you really think that little of me, Oikawa-san?" 

Folding his arms across his chest, Oikawa gave him a cold smile. "Perhaps. Prove me otherwise." 

Closing his eyes, Yahaba tucked his legs underneath him again, inhaling deeply. He Breathed, and Oikawa noticed the grass flattening itself against his legs, the leaves swaying a little more than they should in the wispy breeze. Unseen by Yahaba, Oikawa nodded to himself, allowing his shoulders to relax and his arms to settle by his sides. He'd be strong, for sure. But he had to really, really want to be, so badly it burned his stomach and exhausted his strength time after time. 

And if it was out of spite, out of hatred, so be it. 

“Iwa-chan.”

Dropping his spoon into his bowl with a clatter, Iwaizumi looked over at Oikawa and groaned. “Today?”

“Today,” Oikawa affirmed. “You’re going to be blessed by my patient ways of enlightening you.” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes skipped over to Yahaba, who shook his head slightly, glancing over at Oikawa tenuously. 

“Don’t take any notice of Yahaba, he doesn’t realise how lucky he is to have me training him,” Oikawa dismissed him, leaning forwards and snapping his fingers. “Look at me. We’re starting now.” 

Iwaizumi pulled a face. “I thought you’d forgotten about it.”

“I forget nothing. Now stop stalling and follow me outside, student Iwa-chan.” 

"I am not calling you Master under any circumstances," Iwaizumi stated as he trailed after Oikawa outside, gaze low, shoulders squared defensively. 

“I never said you had to, but please feel more than free to. I always like to have my superiority established in how I’m addressed.” Oikawa backstepped, and pointed to an area right in front of him. “Stand there.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one training you. I promise to do anything you tell me to do unconditionally when you’re teaching me how to hit people with sticks or whatever, okay?” Oikawa smiled sweetly, and Iwaizumi sighed, advancing to where he was pointing. 

“Alright, what now?” 

“Now you tell me what triggers you to open up your store of magic.” 

Iwaizumi shrugged. “I think it’s when I’m in danger. I don’t actively chose to summon it.”

“It’s called channelling. You’re not calling it from another dimension.” 

“I don’t care what it’s supposed to be called. How do I control it?”

Oikawa cocked a hand on his hip. “We’ll figure that out when you’re about to explode.”

“I usually don’t explode. It just all comes out in a gust and damages anything nearby. Stuff cracks and shit. And how are you supposed to make me feel threatened?” Iwaizumi asked, lifting his eyebrows. “I haven’t seen you doing anything even resembling fighting so far.” 

Oikawa clutched a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Iwa-chan. But I’d like to try something…” 

He exhaled, the glassy needle coiling up between their faces. Iwaizumi’s body lowered closer to the ground, limbs tensing. 

“That’s what you used to wound those ambushers?” 

Sucking it back in so he could speak, Oikawa nodded. “That’s right. It could easily kill you.”

Iwaizumi relaxed, shaking his head. “No use. I know you won’t kill me, so it’s not kicking in. Coupled with the fact that I could kill you first at this range easily.” 

“I don’t doubt that you would willingly try to kill me given the slightest incentive, but you wouldn’t be able to.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.”

“I think this as good a time as any for me to start your training,” Iwaizumi told him, and instantly barrelled into him, slamming into his waist. 

Oikawa folded instantly, the back of his head slamming firmly into the ground. 

“Rule number one - if you get control of an enemy’s hips, you’ve won. You control their centre of gravity,” Iwaizumi instructed, as if Oikawa hadn’t probably suffered a third-degree concussion from being driven into the earth. 

He didn’t even know if concussions went up to the third degree. That’s how concussed he was. 

“No! I’m training you first,” Oikawa demanded, trying to sit up, but it was difficult with Iwaizumi’s weight pressing down on his lower stomach. 

“To do that, I have to feel in danger,” Iwaizumi shot back, rising from Oikawa’s chest. “And I have to say, I don’t feel very endangered right now. You went down pathetically fast.”

Before he had gotten to his feet completely, Oikawa swung his legs up and locked them around Iwaizumi’s waist, catching him off balance. He twisted his torso sideways, and Iwaizumi went with his motion, thudding into the earth beside him. 

“Ouch,” was Iwaizumi’s only comment, laying flat on the grass.

“And you underestimated me,” Oikawa boasted, turning his head to gloat. 

“You’re a bit stronger than you look,” Iwaizumi admitted, eyes straying over Oikawa’s form, searching as if he’d missed something. 

Something prickled a warning to Oikawa, a stinging deep in his lungs, and he quickly stopped gazing at Iwaizumi, clambering to his feet. 

“All very amusing, Iwa-chan, but I think it’s time we actually get down to business, don’t you?”

Iwaizumi squinted up at him, sitting up and gathering his legs, resting his arm over them. 

Oikawa smiled and outstretched a hand. 

Silently, Iwaizumi surveyed his hand with narrowed eyes. Oikawa sighed. “It’s not a trick! I find it offensive how suspicious you are of me. Mutual benefit, can your tiny little mind remember? Sym-bi-o-sis. Four syllables. Do you know what that means?" 

Mutely, Iwaizumi took his hand and Oikawa pulled him to his feet. 

“Now, shall we get serious?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent showing simple breathing exercises to Iwaizumi, and Oikawa learning holds and grapples from Iwaizumi. They came naturally to him, but by the end they were both heavily out of breath, droplets of sweat running down their cheeks. 

Oikawa wiped away the line of sweat above his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“I feel like I got off a lot lighter than you,” Iwaizumi commented as they returned to the house. “I mean, all I had to do was breathe for ages. You got your ass kicked.”

“Just because it seems easy doesn’t mean you’re any good at it,” Oikawa shot back. “You’re going to be breathing like that for at least a week until you get better at it.” 

Iwaizumi groaned. “But it’s so slow.”

“Then learn control quicker,” Oikawa told him. “Maybe I’ll let you only concentrate for four hours tomorrow, instead of six.”

Iwaizumi sighed deeply. "Can't I learn to do something I can use in battle?"

Oikawa turned to him, opening the door and gesturing him through first. "Do you not breathe in battle? You're quite a fighter if you can do that."

Passing through the door, Iwaizumi glared at him. "You know what I mean. A fighting technique. I know how to breathe already, and I can't Breathe like you or Yahaba, but I want to harness this power into something useful. "

Smiling covertly, Oikawa patted his shoulder and followed him in. "In time, in time. You have to have patience."

"Quit it with the wise man bullshit. You were the one demanding I show you tackles intended for warriors after at least ten months of training,” Iwaizumi pointed out, the sweat beading on his dark forehead as he lifted the hem of his shirt over his head. 

"Isn't it your fault that you showed them to me, then?" Oikawa accused, eyes darting anywhere but Iwaizumi’s chest. 

"We don't have time to waste away taking our time. If she attacks again, we don't have the backup of surprising them with Yahaba and Kyoutani this time. She'll be prepared, and so should we."

"Hmph."

Oikawa sat moodily in a chair, eyes flattening out with thought. "That's why I was insisting on you demonstrating those grapples to me. I want you to show me the basics of swordsmanship tomorrow. I've picked up a bit while travelling, but it's not enough."

"You can rush, and yet I can take my time?"

Iwaizumi's voice was strung out, a pressure folding in it Oikawa felt in the soreing knots of his shoulders. 

"I have a power I can't control and can't successfully repress," Iwaizumi started, and the sudden anger in his voice surprised Oikawa. "I've finally come across someone who could help me with it, and he refuses to teach me to control it properly."

Oikawa's lips parted, and he stood up. "Breathing isn't the same as building physical abilities. I rushed through the training before, and someone died. I'm not risking that ever again."

"Even if I accept that risk? Even if I’m not a Breather? It’s not the same.” 

"You’re right - it’s not the same. It could be even more deadly since you’re not a Breather. We have no idea of your abilities or what type we’re dealing with. Only a complete  _ ikol _ would skip steps.”

Iwaizumi's eyes narrowed, and Oikawa stepped forwards. "Iwa-chan, I'm not allowing you to grind me down on this. We are doing this the right way, and if they get to us before then, then whatever happens happens."

"My parents died because I couldn't control this cursed white," Iwaizumi said wearily, deflated. He rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. "I'm afraid, Oikawa. I'm afraid of hurting the heir, and any of you.” 

Oikawa inhaled sharply, the air freezing on his lungs. "I'm sorry to hear that. But it doesn't change my mind." He raised a hand, gently catching Iwaizumi’s arm just above the elbow, and squeezed softly. “Trust me on this.” 

Exhaling deeply, Iwaizumi nodded slowly, the anger diffusing from his eyes. “I understand. I’m just frustrated.” 

“Good. It’s settled then.”

“I suppose it is, unless we come across a better Breather who can teach me.”

“We don’t have to worry about that. That person doesn’t exist.” 

Iwaizumi snorted. “You and your ego.”

“And what about it?”

Iwaizumi looked at him strangely, and Oikawa realised his hand was still clasped around Iwaizumi’s arm. Dipping his face, Oikawa let go. 

“It’s unbearable,” Iwaizumi followed up, but his voice lacked bite, conviction. 

He turned away from Oikawa, checking on the heir. 

“Sssh, ssshh,” Iwaizumi murmured, then, after a second’s hesitation, kissed the child’s forehead. “It’ll be alright, okay?” 

Oikawa wrinkled up his nose. “That’s not your kid. Why’re you kissing it? Gross.”

“Like it or not, we’re his acting parents now,” Iwaizumi pointed out. “I don’t want him growing up with issues because we were too cold.” 

“Ha, you believe that shit? I’m fine, aren’t I?” 

“No.”

"I resent that."

“All I’m saying is a universal fact, that parenting is important. Are you really arguing that?”

“We’re not his parents.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t parent him.”

“We’re not - Wait, when did we become his stand in parents? We’re supposed to protect him and make sure he lives or whatever, nothing more.” 

“You, Oikawa -“ Iwaizumi shook his head, lowering his face into his hand. “I thought we’d moved past this. We’re his guardians.”

“It appears you and I have very different meanings for guardian.”

Iwaizumi lifted his head, and looked at Oikawa without any of the anger Oikawa expected, instead with soft eyebrows and a tired mouth. He sighed. 

“Fine. We do. Just try not to fuck him up, okay?” 

Oikawa tilted his head to the side. “I’m horrified that you’d even assume that.”

Iwaizumi reached out, his hand gripping Oikawa’s shoulder briefly, for the time it took for him to say one single word. 

“Good.” 

He removed his hand, and the spot where his palm was grew hot, just for an instant. Oikawa resisted the urge to rub the spot, get rid of the heat. His eyes traced the outline of Iwaizumi’s back, from the tips of his black hair, down his weatherbeaten, leathered neck, to the curve of his back. 

Oikawa shook his gaze away, forcing himself to stare at a rafter instead. It had been occurring more and more often lately. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. Iwaizumi had a sort of presence he'd never felt before, all brusque and stern demeanour - by all rights, he should feel sharp, taste like a bitter leaf, but he didn't. He stood next to Oikawa, and he felt soft, safe. Comforting, almost. As if you knew that his edges would never be used on someone who didn't deserve it. Oikawa exhaled heavily, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Iwaizumi move, picking up the heir, gently rocking it in the bend of his arm. 

He tried to remind himself that Iwaizumi was a killer, a murderer with a fancy title that excused what he did, but it was hard, too hard to reconcile the image of Iwaizumi slitting throats with the one of him kissing the heir's forehead. 

It was okay, Oikawa convinced himself. Soon, they'd meet this other cult person, and they could help Iwaizumi take care of the heir. Oikawa had never promised anything to him, after all. As for his vow to the king… promises to dead people didn't count. 

Right?

They arrived at the edge of the next village a few days later, and Iwaizumi paused, laying a hand over his stump before speaking. 

“We’re here.” 

Stepping forwards, Oikawa eyed the usual, drab brown huts doubtfully, the few people working on their gardens starting to take notice. Probably wondering if they were here for shelter from the bandits or if they were bandits themselves. “Okay, so who’s this magical person who’s going to solve all our problems?” 

Iwaizumi dropped his bags. “Wait here.” 

“We don’t get the privilege of meeting this person?”

Walking towards the village, Iwaizumi glanced back, shooting an exasperated look at Oikawa. “Just wait.” 

Before long, Iwaizumi returned, accompanied by a newcomer. His presence seemed to put the people staring at them at ease, because as soon as they saw his path towards them, they returned to their work, something Oikawa's smile had failed to do. He greeted each one personally as he passed, and each responded in kind, raising a respectful hand. 

Oikawa surveyed him as he drew closer - tiny bit shorter than Iwaizumi, handsome enough in the sort of everyday man kind of way, and walked in the assured manner of a man who, from Oikawa’s personal experience, had a massive package. His leather-tanned face was shaped from rock, a jawline almost as clearly cut as Iwaizumi’s framing cracked lips and shadowed chin.

Yahaba’s jaw dropped. “Daichi?” 

The man smiled, opening his arms. “It’s good to see you again, Yahaba. And you, Kyoutani. How have you two been?” 

Kyoutani’s cheeks went red, and in the next second he was folded into Daichi’s arms. Yahaba followed suit quickly after. 

“You’re-“ Yahaba looked like he could barely get the words out, “Not dead. You’re alive. Iwaizumi-san was telling the truth.” 

Iwaizumi looked indignant. “‘Course I was.” 

“Ah… no offence intended,” Yahaba apologised, holding up his hands. “It’s a little hard to believe a stranger’s story when you think you’ve seen him cleave the head off of his shoulders.” 

Daichi grinned, full of amusement. “I apologise about that, but it was necessary.” 

Abruptly, Kyoutani pushed away from Daichi, his shoulders high, tensed. 

“Why?” Kyoutani spat out suddenly, eyes dark. “Why did you let us believe you were dead? Why did you make us grieve you?” 

His fists were rigid by his sides, head low, words barely below a shout. Frowning, Yahaba stepped back, Kyoutani’s words sinking in. Daichi’s expression grew grave, and he clasped his hands together. 

“Kyoutani, I understand why you’re angry -“ 

“You understand because I’m right!”

“And your anger is justified, but I had to. Sugawara even altered his own memory so he wouldn’t let on I was alive. It was that important.” 

All through this, Yahaba had been staring at Daichi, his eyes soft and lost. “But why?” 

Wringing his hands together, Daichi shook his head slowly. His gaze dragged over to Iwaizumi. “I can’t tell you that.” 

Yahaba’s fingers pressed hard against his temples. “I can’t accept that. Not after seeing what your death did to Sugawara and Kuroo. “ 

Stepping forwards, Daichi tried to lay a hand on Kyoutani’s arm, but he shook it off furiously. 

“I’ll tell Suga and Kuroo, you, and everyone everything once this is over,” he promised. “I had to keep an eye on someone, and our fears were valid. I swear, it will be worth it in the end.”

Shaking his head, Kyoutani barged past him, not even lifting his head to meet his eyes. Yahaba sighed, grinding his fingertips into his temples. 

“We need time,” was all he said before following Kyoutani, breaking into a jog briefly to catch up. 

Oikawa watched as Yahaba put an arm around Kyoutani, wondering where the fuck they were going. 

Daichi started after them, but Iwaizumi grabbed his arm. 

“They’ll find us later. When they’re ready.” 

Pressing his lips together, Daichi met Iwaizumi's eyes, and relaxed. "I hate keeping this from them."

"As soon as we have everything back in order, we can explain everything," Iwaizumi assured him, and Daichi sighed, nodding. "I know." 

“Touching reunion,” Oikawa commented dryly. 

Daichi turned towards Oikawa, and Oikawa narrowed his eyes, scanning him up and down in what he hoped was a disdainful way. 

“Have we met before?” Daichi asked calmly, gaze sizing Oikawa up. 

Barely suppressing a glower, Oikawa pasted on a pleasant smile, offering him his hand. “I don’t believe I’ve had the honour. I’m Oikawa Tooru, but you can call me The Almighty. Either works just perfectly.” 

“Good to meet you, Oikawa. I’m Daichi.” 

“And you know everyone else… how?” 

Daichi gave him a smile. “Mutual friends.” 

“Friends as in criminals?” 

Iwaizumi stepped over to him and nudged him with his elbow in the ribs. “Stop it. You’ll get along.” 

“Hmph. Sure.” Oikawa crossed his arms. ”You said you had a place where we could stay?” 

Daichi’s eyes panned over to Oikawa. 

“I’ve got a place for you. Except I wasn’t expecting four of you, only Iwaizumi and the heir. Iwaizumi neglected to mention that fact. I only have a bed and a cot.” 

“Apologies.”

“Fortunately, the bed is big enough already.”

“If it’s two pushed together, we can separate the beds, it’s not an issue,” Iwaizumi told him practically. 

“About that… it’s just one, I’m afraid. To separate it into two you’ll have to hammer on four new legs and saw it in half.” 

"I'll do it, if you can locate the tools needed," Iwaizumi jumped in rapidly, almost too fast, too eager. 

"I'm not that disgusting, Iwa-chan," Oikawa said lightly, and Iwaizumi's hand twisted in the end of his shirt. 

"Either way, you're going to have to wait until tomorrow to sort it out," Daichi said apologetically. 

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. I understand. I'll sleep on the floor."

Daichi aimed a confused look at him. "I think that'll be unnecessary. There's enough room for you both without having to resort to drastic measures. You both look like you could use some decent, comfortable rest."

Iwaizumi looked like he wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. He dragged a finger across the bags underneath his eye and nodded, gaze sliding across to Oikawa. "Are you okay with this?"

"I'll tolerate it." 

Iwaizumi nodded back vacantly, and Oikawa realised he wasn’t the only one tiring from the constant travelling. He hid it well, but Iwaizumi was just as worn down as him, finally allowing his shoulders to bend forwards underneath the weight of his armour, his eyelids to droop down, speech slowed. 

To his horror, Oikawa felt sympathy. 

“It’ll do us a world of good to sleep a proper night’s sleep!” He commented, perhaps a bit too chipper, because both men gave him half-wary looks. “Thanks, Dakie.”

“It’s Daichi,” Daichi reminded him at the same time Iwaizumi raised a lazy hand and pinched Oikawa's arm.

“He’s saving our asses here. The least you can do is remember his name.” 

“I was close enough!” Oikawa retorted back defensively. 

Daichi gave a bemused smile, and brought them to the place he'd arranged. As he'd stated, it was small for the four of them, with only three rooms. One had a space for a fire built into the centre of it, and the bigger of the two remaining rooms was the main bedroom, simply furnished with a large bed, a window directly opposite. A few hours after Daichi left and night crawled in through the doorway, Yahaba and Kyoutani came in with it, bearing whatever food they could barter for. 

As they tried their best to settle in (Yahaba rearranging the little furniture it had to suit his standards and Kyoutani examining corners closely for no reason apparent to Oikawa) Iwaizumi left to talk to Daichi, presumably to discuss super-secret society secrets. Oikawa mentally made it a point to remember to interrogate Iwaizumi when he came back. 

As he headed into his room, he saw Yahaba and Kyoutani, curled up together in the corner, and smirked to himself. 

Iwaizumi returned late at night, and reluctantly crawled in beside Oikawa, who flipped over on his side expectantly. He propped up his head on his palm and raised his eyebrows as Iwaizumi tugged the blanket up over his bare shoulders. 

"What's the news, Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi met his eyes and grimaced. "It's not good. The kingdom is as we expected - in disarray. Aecus are apparently keeping to themselves in the castle, so the kingdom is completely lawless, just like Awero. Daichi and the rest are doing their best to try and keep bandits in order, and ordinary people protected from any rogue magickers, but it's getting worse."

"That's ironic, coming from a former bandit king," Oikawa commented, and Iwaizumi sighed. 

"How many times do I have to tell you that he's on our side?"

"You mean your side," Oikawa answered. 

The corners of Iwaizumi's mouth tightened, and he turned over, back facing Oikawa. "Goodnight."

"Aren't you mature?" Oikawa retorted sharply, to which he received no answer. Well, if Iwaizumi thought silence would deter him, he was mistaken. "You refuse to give me any information and you're condescending when I don't trust members of your little secret club. Why should I trust an organisation I know nothing about?"

"You don't have to trust them."

"I'm putting my welfare in their hands, which indicates quite a high level of trust."

"It's fine. They won't hurt you. Shut up and go to sleep,” Iwaizumi murmured back sleepily, curling the blanket around him. 

Oikawa rolled his eyes at the back of Iwaizumi’s head. “You shut up and go to sleep.” 

“I’m trying,” was the sleepy reply. 

“Tell me something about what you and Daichi are part of and I’ll let you sleep,” Oikawa bargained, to which Iwaizumi began breathing heavier, his shoulders going with the gentle movement. 

Oikawa lifted a finger to prod at him, but he stopped midway, listening to Iwaizumi's peaceful, even breaths. With a sigh, Oikawa rolled over, and his desire to bother Iwaizumi for information was quickly erased by sleep tugging at his mind. 

He was woken by Iwaizumi moving around the room, rustling in the half-subdued manner of someone attempting to be quiet. Oikawa cracked his rusty eyes open, gathering up the crooked blanket. Couldn’t Iwaizumi have slept in this one day? 

Casting his gaze to the window, he saw that it was just before sunrise, the edges of the frame staining golden. 

“Uh, Oikawa?” 

“Mm hm?” Oikawa responded lazily, dragging his gaze over to Iwaizumi. “Oh.”

Iwaizumi stood at the end of his bed half-dressed, his loose pants on fine, but his shirt… 

“Dear gods, can you not dress yourself with one hand?” Oikawa questioned, sitting up, the sleepiness falling from his mind. 

Iwaizumi’s cheeks coloured, and he attempted to pull the hem, twisted across his chest, down unsuccessfully. “Before you start teasing me -“

“Let me get in one jab at least! It’s only fair that I get to make fun of you.” 

“- usually I’m okay at this. This time something just went wrong. So could you please shut up and help me?” 

“You came to the right person!” Oikawa said brightly, sliding out of bed. “My other achievements overshadow this fact, but I am actually a champion shirt detangler.” 

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi murmured as Oikawa stripped off the problematic shirt. “I couldn’t let the boys see me like this. They’d lose all respect for me.” 

Oikawa smiled, working out the knots in the shirt. “And I won’t?”

“There’s nobody really left but you. And I don’t think you had much respect for me anyways.” Iwaizumi shrugged, and without the shirt Oikawa could see the fluid flow of movement underneath his sallow skin, a giveaway of his actual strength. 

“I think Iwa-chan shouldn’t be too hard on himself,” left Oikawa’s mouth. “You did lose a whole arm, after all. Well, most of it.” 

“As you keep helpfully reminding me. Here, if you’ve unknotted the shirt I can take it from there.” 

Iwaizumi reached for the shirt, but Oikawa held it up over his head, just out of his reach. “I’m here now, so I might as well dress you too.” 

“I don’t want to lose more dignity. Just give me the shirt.”

Iwaizumi stood there with his hand out, looking sternly at Oikawa. Oikawa chuckled - he couldn’t help himself. 

“It’s a shirt, Iwa-chan. It’s not a big deal. It’ll stop you getting in the same situation again if I put it on you, won’t it? It’s only logical,” Oikawa said, and he saw Iwaizumi’s chest expand as he sucked in a deep breath. 

“Fine,” he relented. “Get it over with.” 

He reluctantly stuck out his hand, and Oikawa looped the shirt sleeve through it, trying not to giggle out loud. 

"Oikawa? One thing."

By the change in Iwaizumi's voice, Oikawa frowned, pulling the shirt down over Iwaizumi's shoulders. "You sound serious. What is it?"

"Don't mention to Daichi that I have magic."

"Why?"

"I would prefer if he didn't know, that's all. Yahaba and Kyoutani agreed not to tell him, so it's just you that might let it slip."

"He can't be part of that stupid Osole group. He's friends with that dickhead back in the cave, after all. So why do you want to keep this from him?" 

Iwaizumi's gaze dropped. "It would make things... Difficult. That's all you have to know."

"Difficult how exactly?" Squinting at him, Oikawa tried to meet Iwaizumi's eyes, but he was avoiding them. 

Iwaizumi sighed, running his hand back through his hair. "It's not Daichi who could be a problem, it's who he could tell." He glanced down, tucking his shirt into his pants himself, as Oikawa stayed silent, simply cocking an eyebrow. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Iwaizumi grimaced. "Fine. Edictio -"

"Is that what you won't tell me about?" Oikawa butted in. 

Giving him a flat look, Iwaizumi exhaled heavily. "Yeah. That one. The one you keep calling a cult."

"You haven't given me any reason to not call them a cult," Oikawa pointed out, and Iwaizumi sighed again deeply. 

"The point is, they don't know I have any white, and if they do, they could…" Iwaizumi trailed off. "Look, the short version is that if they know, that would be bad for me and you. I need to know you won't say anything."

Studying his grim expression, Oikawa nodded slowly. "Okay. You have my word. But -"

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. "Of course there's a but."

"- you owe me one."

Iwaizumi squinted at him, suspicion underlying his gaze. "That's all?"

"That's all!" Oikawa grinned at him, which didn't seem to reassure Iwaizumi at all, whose eyes only narrowed further.

"If you say so."

The day passed as usual, with those who were willing and able picking up any work they could in the area, with Oikawa assigned to take care of the heir this time. And as a side on that job, it was silently arranged that the food was also his responsibility. Although Oikawa complained and disliked the days where this fell upon him, it gave him time to think, alone.

It was a purple-tinged evening, thunder threatening on the sky’s edge. Oikawa glanced up from Yahaba, to the dark grey clouds clambering overhead. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, and smelt electricity on the clouds. He heard the breath thump from Kyoutani’s lungs nearby as Iwaizumi slammed him to the ground, and the answering, low groan of pain. 

A training technique came to mind, and his gaze lifted to the heavy sky. Was Yahaba ready? 

Snatches of Iwaizumi’s instruction drifted over him. 

“ - lower your center. If you can force one of their shoulders down -“ 

Oikawa sighed quietly. Last time he pushed a trainee, it hadn’t ended well. “It’s going to rain. Finish that exercise, and catch a raindrop.”

Yahaba opened his eyes, sucking his Breath back in. “How?” 

“Your Breath has to solidify when it needs to,” Oikawa explained, and paused, taking a moment to demonstrate. A slice appeared at the side of the tree to Yahaba’s right. 

Yahaba levelled his stare. “I don’t want to weaponise my Breath. I want to use it to heal, and nothing else.” 

“You’re going to die that way,” Oikawa said. 

“I’ve made it this far without being able to fight with it,” Yahaba insisted, casting a wary side-eye at the clean, precise cut in the bark. 

Oikawa threw his eyes and hands to heaven. “Because you’ve been protected by criminals and a convenient group of cells you can shift at will? What do you have when you’re on your own? Attitude? A moral conscience? I hate to be the one to break it to you, but they’re not going to save you from a sword.” 

Thunder broke above their heads, and a moment later, lightning flashed far too close for Oikawa’s liking. 

“I have my bow,” Yahaba defended himself, and the first rain droplets began rumbling down, the leaves of the scarred tree bustling faster as the wind sped up. 

Oikawa heard Iwaizumi and Kyoutani stilling, looking up at the leaden sky, but he wasn’t done with Yahaba. 

“And what about in weather like this, when your bowstring is wet and useless?” Oikawa challenges him. “Not using all of your abilities to their fullest potential is a wasted life.”

“You’re telling me that my life is a waste?”

“No, you’re far too young to have wasted your life yet. I’m saying you’re in the process of wasting it,” Oikawa corrected. 

Yahaba’s eyes reflected the sky, the grey infusing through the brown to create a murkiness. His expression hardened. 

“Because I’m living according to my beliefs?”

“Other people have the privilege of living like they want to,” Oikawa said coldly. “You’ve chosen to become a Breather, under my instruction, and if I didn’t teach you all that I know, I would be a pathetic excuse for a teacher.” 

“Then I guess we agree on something,” Yahaba snapped out, and he began to walk past Oikawa. 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Oikawa let Yahaba get a few steps behind him before speaking. 

“Do you remember what you agreed to when I said I’d train you?” Oikawa called out. 

He saw Yahaba’s jaw clench. “I never agreed to be abused.” 

“You aren’t. I’m just not coddling you.” Oikawa caught up to him in a few strides, grabbing his arm. “The truth of it is, I’m not wasting my time training someone who’ll die the moment a petty thief fancies an easy target.” 

Yahaba wrenched his arm from Oikawa’s grasp. Thunder rolled closer, and the clouds crashed together, driving the rain down thick and fast. 

“I’ve survived more than you’ll ever know,” Yahaba snarled out, and stormed off towards the village. 

“I’ll see you at sunrise tomorrow,” Oikawa called after him. 

He turned, water soaking his shoulders, to see Iwaizumi shaking his head at him, and Kyoutani launching himself into a jog after Yahaba. Rotating back around, Oikawa stalked back into the cabin. 

“Should I ask what happened with Yahaba?” 

Oikawa huffed, sitting back in the chair as Iwaizumi lay his sword by the kitchen table, his hair drenched from the rain. Oikawa could see some watery black run down the side of his forehead from where he’d dyed his white. 

“It’s nothing big. He’ll be back.” 

Glancing over at him, Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows, squeezing out the hem of his shirt in his fist. “He seemed really mad. What’d you say?”

“Only the truth. That he was going to die if he didn’t learn to weaponise his Breath, but he didn’t want to hear it. That’s not my fault,” Oikawa announced, solidly folding his arms over his chest. “He was the one who begged me to train him, and I warned him.” 

Iwaizumi nodded, padding over to the heir, just beside Oikawa in a cot. “For good reason.”

“How’s Kyoutani coming along?” 

“Better than I expected,” Iwaizumi replied, picking up the heir gently, carefully balancing him in the crook of his elbow. “He’s got exceptional core muscles for his age - he just needs to know where and when to direct his strength.” 

“Glad one of us is making progress,” Oikawa grumbled, watching as the baby sleepily blinked awake. “Why did you wake that little devilspawn?” 

“He deserves some attention,” Iwaizumi explained, rocking him. “These are important formative years. You should hold him, too.”

Oikawa looked at Tobio, who gazed at him innocently through slow blinks. 

“Fine.” Oikawa held out his arms expectantly. "Give him the stupid thing."

Iwaizumi gave the baby to Oikawa, and for once, Oikawa didn’t have to resist the urge to grimace. It gurgled, and Oikawa instantly held it out further, alarmed. 

“It isn’t going to throw up on me, is it?”

Iwaizumi cracked a smile. “No, that means he’s happy. Smile at him, he’ll smile back.” 

Aiming a brief scowl at Iwaizumi, Oikawa nonetheless tucked Tobio into his arms more comfortably, and smiled down at him. As if confused, the baby stared at Oikawa with shockingly empty eyes, absorbing everything. The tuft of black hair sprouting from the top of his head stirred softly as his mouth split into a wide grin, showing off the white tips of new teeth. 

“Hey, he smiled back!” 

Looking up, Oikawa grinned at Iwaizumi, and for once, Iwaizumi smiled back. No scowling, no frowning, no sarcastic comment, just a smile. His face looked… nice. 

Oikawa’s concentration fractured. 

“Can I… do you have - um, what’s the word for… uh. You know, that thing.” 

Iwaizumi’s forehead creased up, his smile fading. “What?” 

At least Oikawa could think clearly now. “Baby food. I meant that thing you use to feed him.” 

Iwaizumi eyebrows shot up. “You want to feed him?” 

To his surprise, Oikawa found himself about to say yes. He was mid-nod when he felt it, a sort of thickening of the air ahead of them, a suffocating increase in the heaviness of his Breath. It began shifting, and dread overtook Oikawa, poisoning his limbs. 

He immediately turned to Iwaizumi, opening his mouth to warn him. 

“There’s-“

Before he finished, the cause of the change became clear. The stranger shimmered into existence in front of them, this time with her hood fallen back, exposing a sharp face with wide, alight eyes. When Oikawa recalled this moment, all he could see was the narrowness of her chin, the golden rage of her irises.

"No talking."

She spat, and oil flowed from their mouth, thumping onto the floor heavily. Iwaizumi lunged across Oikawa, reaching for his sword laid on the table. 

"Fuck-" passed Iwaizumi's lips. 

The oil slicked up his foot with frightening speed, a thin line shooting all the way up his spine, and Oikawa extended a hand, to draw the oil towards him, anything - then the line sharpened, and burst through the other side of Iwaizumi's chest. Panic bloomed through Oikawa, strangling his lungs. No. 

Iwaizumi stumbled, and would've dropped to the floor if Oikawa's hand hadn't grabbed his shirt, yanking him towards him with all his strength. His senses were overcome with the scent of rotting mint, the pulsation of the last beats of a dying heart throbbing through his eardrums - Breathe. He needed to Breathe, heal him, help him - 

" _ Sana! _ " Oikawa uttered, the desperation setting in. Nothing happened. His Breath refused to leave him. 

Crumpled over Oikawa's lap, Iwaizumi was limp, motionless. Tobio saw Iwaizumi's cold eyes and began crying. Oikawa felt a warm liquid trickle across his thighs. No. He grabbed Iwaizumi by the back of the neck, forcing his mouth open with his thumb.

" _ Consano _ !" 

Nothing. 

"Ah…" 

Oikawa couldn't breathe. The kid was screaming. Iwaizumi was dead. 

The oil retreated up into the stranger's mouth. 

"Heir. Now."

Oikawa looked up at her, Tobio reaching for Iwaizumi and struggling to break free in one arm, the other wrapped around Iwaizumi's warm shoulders. He tried to speak, but his mouth was acrid. 

"Yes, yes, he's dead, get over it," the stranger intoned impatiently, striding over to Oikawa, face long as she towered over him. "Let go of the heir."

Oikawa could barely hear her over the sob-screech of the child, over the stink of ash rising from Iwaizumi's body. He held Tobio tighter. 

The stranger raised her hand, and the oil flooded down her arm, shaping into a spear. 

"I would rather the child grow up with the least amount of trauma as possible, so I'll ask once more politely. Please give me the heir."

"You killed his guardian in front of him!"

"And I'll kill the other one if he doesn't cooperate."

Oikawa tried to concentrate and exhale, focus enough to sharpen his Breath into a spear as well, a viable weapon, but his mind was stuck on Iwaizumi on his lap, the memory of Iwaizumi's soft green eyes just minutes before, Iwaizumi's blood soaking his legs - 

He felt a hot, piercing pain in his torso, and then the heir being yanked from his arm. Trying to stand, agony flashed through his body, as if he had tried to tug a part of his flesh out. Glancing down, he saw the oily spear stuck through the lower right side of his torso, pinning him to the seat. 

"Please," he pleaded with the stranger's back. "Please! He's a child - you didn't have to kill- "

"You forced my hand. Goodbye." 

She shimmered, and vanished. The cries of the heir disappeared, and the spear in him dissolved, followed by the abrupt spurt of warmth down his side. Oikawa coughed, and tasted his own sweet, white blood. His head spun. Too fast. Everything had happened too fast. He suddenly realised, uselessly, how much violence the stranger had tried to avoid last time. If she had wanted them dead, they would’ve been long dead already. And now they were. 

Oikawa reached out to Iwaizumi’s hand, clasping it in his, and allowed his eyes to dull to black. 

He’d expected white light, or perhaps nothingness, but not Yahaba’s voice. 

“ _ Sabe. _ ”

A searing agony arched out from the depths of his stomach, and he cried out, eyes shooting open. 

“Oikawa-san! You’re alive!”

“Gods, it doesn’t fucking feel like it,” Oikawa spat out, his mouth filled uncomfortably with his own sticky, half-dried blood. His torso ached, badly. 

“What happened?” Yahaba asked, his face drawn, pale. His grey eyes appeared deeper than usual. 

“That - well…” Oikawa trailed off, gaze darting around, searching. 

He didn’t have to look for long. 

They had moved Iwaizumi’s body to lay on the floor just beyond the table - Oikawa’s view was obscured by the table, and he was grateful. 

He averted his eyes. 

“She came for the child again. We were both taken off guard - Iwa-chan didn’t even have time to get his sword. She was here to kill us.” 

Oikawa’s breath was short - whether it was from his lack of properly working organs or the shock, he wasn’t sure. He raised a hand to his face and became aware of half-dried tears streamed down his cheeks. 

Yahaba and Kyoutani were silent. 

“Iwaizumi-san died.” Kyoutani’s voice was hollow, soft, with an edge of disbelief. He threw a look to the edge of the table, where Iwaizumi's sword still rested, untouched. 

“I couldn’t save him,” Oikawa said dimly. “He was dying right next to me and I was too late.” 

The truth of it stirred up something in Oikawa’s chest, and he swallowed thickly. “We need to get the heir back.” 

He attempted to stand, but was stopped by a piercing pain, as if a new spear had hit him all over again. Gasping, he pressed a hand to his wound, trying to dull the pain. 

“Yahaba, I thought you had improved at Breathing?” Oikawa said sharply, eyes cutting up to him. “Is my teaching not good enough?”

“Organs are complicated,” Kyoutani defended him, as Yahaba looked down at the floor. “He almost passed out healing you.” 

“Excuses.” 

Oikawa lifted up his ruined shirt and glanced down at his torso, running his palm over the ugliest scar he’d ever seen. It circled from just under his ribcage to above his hips, slightly off-centre to the left. 

“How the fuck are my organs working?” 

“They mightn’t,” Yahaba said apologetically. “But they should keep you sufficiently alive until we find another Breather to. . .do better.” 

Oikawa’s swell of anger surprised him. Frustration boiled away his bones, his muscles rigid, and he couldn’t stop himself. 

“There won’t be another to do better!” He snapped out. “Your friends will die next to you because you always relied on someone else to clean up your mistakes! And then guess what? They won’t be there anymore and it’ll be just you failing to help everyone you care about.” 

Oikawa tasted salt, and realised he was sobbing. He turned, away from Kyoutani and Yahaba’s eyes. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“It’s okay,” Kyoutani mumbled. “It’s not your fault.” 

Oikawa appreciated his lie. He wiped his eyes slowly, trying to breathe through his stone lungs. He felt a touch on his arm. 

“Come on.” Yahaba’s voice. “Let’s go outside.” 

Oikawa’s pride retreated, too scared to show its face when grief was starting to roar, and he allowed himself to be led by the shoulder.

He couldn't look at Iwaizumi's body. His death smelled like burning lilies. 

He'd lost people before. Why did this feel so much worse? He must be out of practice. 

"Hey."

Oikawa froze. 

"You can hear me?"

Oikawa spun around, and there was Iwaizumi, standing over his corpse. He waved with one of his two full-length arms. 

"Yo." 

Swallowing, Oikawa blinked hard. Uh oh. He was starting to hallucinate. Yahaba was right - he had lost way too much blood and possibly one too many organs. 

“Yahaba,” he said carefully, and Yahaba stopped. 

“Yes?” 

"Do you.. see him?"

Yahaba frowned. "Who? Iwaizumi's dead body? Yes….why?"

Iwaizumi looked down. “Oh fuck, that’s weird. Never thought I’d see myself from out of myself. I… I'm actually fucking dead." His expression deepened into a frown, gazing at himself intensely. "Why am I still here?"

Oikawa stared, and Yahaba exchanged a concerned look with Kyoutani. 

“Listen, I think you’ve seen a lot, and -“

"No!” Oikawa protested, his voice hoarse, eyes not leaving the edges of Iwaizumi’s form, tracing along the slight glimmering. “It’s not his corpse- it’s … him.”

“Now I’m an ‘it’?” Iwaizumi repeated incredulously, brow dipping disapprovingly. ”You really are an asshole.” 

"Oikawa-senpai, I think the blood loss has gotten to your head, or possibly some organ loss as well, I'm still bad at Breathing -"

"It's not a hallucination, I can see his ghost!" Oikawa's voice burst out louder than he intended, flinging out a hand to frantically point at him. "He's right there, blinking and… he's grinning! The bastard is grinning at me!"

Iwaizumi - or some very close approximation of him - shrugged, not dimming his amused smile in the least. "It's entertaining watching you lose your shit. Almost worth dying for.” 

"You are dead!” Oikawa announced, jabbing a finger at him. “You should not be the one smiling right now!"

"Every cloud has a silver lining. I'm just enjoying my misfortune the best I can."

"You  _ ikol! _ You DIED on me!"

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice."

"Why are you so calm about this?!" Oikawa demanded, face heating up. "You're dead! D - E - A - D!"

"People die all the time. And I was tired." Iwaizumi crouched, running an ethereal hand over his cold face. “Thanks for closing my eyes.” 

"Uhh, Oikawa-"

"Not now," Oikawa snapped out.

Yahaba gently touched Oikawa's arm, then did a double take. "What the- Iwaizumi-san?!"

He pulled away, then blinked hard. "Okay. No. He isn’t there.” 

A hunch half-forming, Oikawa whirled to him and clamped his hand over his wrist. "He's there now, isn't he?"

Yahaba stared. "He is now."

Iwaizumi waved. "Hey kid." 

“Hello Iwaizumi-san,” Yahaba replied weakly. 

Oikawa felt another hand lay on top of his, and he turned to see Kyoutani’s furrowed brow, staring at the space above Iwaizumi’s body. 

“Kyoutani, how did you get on with those new side lunges I showed you today?” Iwaizumi asked. 

“You’re dead. Definitely dead,” Kyoutani said. “How the hell are you still here?” 

“What happened?” 

Iwaizumi shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. I know I was dying, but I'm not sure if I was there when I died, if that makes any sense. Something pulled me out of my body before it died.” 

Yahaba turned his great big grey eyes to Oikawa. “Oikawa-san, can you do that? Can you remove Breath?” 

Breath. That was it. What they were seeing was Iwaizumi’s Breath. 

Oikawa shook his head. “No. I tried to heal him, but he died so quickly I didn’t react in time. That’s all I did. Removing Breath is impossible…” 

He faltered, Iwaizumi’s Breath spreading its hands. “It must not be, then how else am I here?” 

“But -“ Oikawa’s mind was sparking. “Unless the stranger did it-“

“She was the one who killed me, remember? Why not just knock me out if she was going to preserve my Breath?” 

Oikawa took a deep breath. “Then it has to be the heir. He saw you dying, got scared, and tried to save you. That’s why I couldn’t heal you. Your Breath was already gone.” 

“But we never saw any evidence of him having magic before, and especially magic as dangerous as that. And for a kid of his age to be that powerful is unheard of - he’d have to be a prodigy. I mean, even you can’t pull Breath from people.” 

“Who else could it be? There was nobody else there! He’d had no reason to use it before.” 

“I suppose - “ Iwaizumi cut off, eyes flashing around the room. “Where is he?” 

His gaze sliced over to Oikawa, and he stepped over his corpse, fists clenched. “You let them take him.”

“I…” Oikawa had no words. 

“No defence? No smart words to try and justify handing over a helpless kid to a murderer?” 

Iwaizumi drew closer, so close Oikawa could see the ghostly shimmer overlayed on his skin. 

“I’m sorry,” he said lamely. 

Iwaizumi pressed a hand against his own forehead. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I should’ve expected this from you.” 

Oikawa felt a flare of irritation. “I almost died! She had to pin me to the chair and tear the heir from my arms!” He gestured to the massive hole in his shirt. “ I tried my best, like you, and at least I didn’t die before the fight even started!” He snapped out, voice curling high in the air. 

“I died before the fight started because she recognised me as a legitimate threat," Iwaizumi spat out, and his form flickered a cold blue. "She knew you wouldn't do shit to stop them!"

"Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa-san stop! It's nobody's fault!" Yahaba tried to intervene, tugging at Oikawa's arm. "She nearly defeated all four of us before, we could all be dead right now!"

"Oikawa wouldn't be, because Oikawa only cares about himself and people who can do something for him," Iwaizumi growled out, approaching closer, shoulders rigid and high. "Oikawa runs away from any fights he can, just like when the castle was invaded."

Despite his anger, Oikawa faltered, his nails pressing hard into his palms. His words rang too loudly in his head. They resonated too much with what he feared to be true inside his ribs. Iwaizumi was too close. He opened his mouth, seeking to lighten the atmosphere. 

"Iwa-chan, since when were you -"

Before he could finish, Iwaizumi reached for Oikawa’s shoulder, but as soon as his hand passed through his shirt, Oikawa’s mind filled up with anger, almost overwhelming him, boulders crashing to the bottom of his stomach. Thoughts flew through his head, too many to process, and he jolted away. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

All of the annoyance drained from Iwaizumi’s face, replaced with surprise. “You felt it too?” 

“Of course I did! How couldn't I?” 

“What was that?” 

Oikawa shook his head, aware of Yahaba and Kyoutani's hands on his shoulder, enabling them to see Iwaizumi again. “I have no clue. It was like.. like…”

“Like your head was out of your control and crowded?” Iwaizumi suggested, and Oikawa nodded feverently. 

“That! That was exactly it. You did feel it too. Never touch me again.” 

“Happily.” 

They surveyed each other for a moment, the shock draining away, sticking to the anger and flooding it away too. Oikawa felt Kyoutani and Yahaba hold their breath beside them, not daring to set them off again with a misplaced word. Eventually, Iwaizumi nodded, and Oikawa nodded back. The light of Iwaizumi's Breath became visible to Oikawa, just for an instant, and it was bright violet, the colour of a sunset after a full moon. 

"Alright. How are we going to get him back?" Iwaizumi asked, and it was like a collective breath was released by Yahaba and Kyoutani in tandem. "I know I'm mostly dead, and that puts me at a significant disadvantage, but we have no other choice."

Oikawa fell silent, feeling everyone's gaze on him. Apparently with Iwaizumi semi-dead, the responsibility of leader rolled onto him, the eldest one alive. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't stop a stream of satisfaction running through him, and he straightened his shoulders, combing the stray hairs out of his face.

"This is what we're going to do," he announced, clapping his hands together. 

"You're awfully happy for someone still soaked in their friend's blood," Yahaba mentioned, drawing his eyes to the brown crusting over his pants. 

"Don't be ridiculous," Oikawa replied easily, rubbing off some stray blood from his hands. "Iwa-chan and I were never friends. Moving on -' he ignored Iwaizumi's disgusted noise "- I know someone who can preserve bodies, put them in a physical limbo, if you will. If we have Iwa-chan's Breath, and his body, there's nothing missing, is there?"

"Apart from the fact his body is dead," Yahaba reminded him with lifted eyebrows, swiping out his hand. "It can't sustain a Breath right now."

"So we get someone to fix it who knows about bodies," Oikawa told him. "My Breath can't heal anything not alive, even a little bit, so if we manage to fix it up enough for one artificial heartbeat, I can heal it. Then his Breath will be drawn into it - and job done!"

"That's about me. I asked about the heir," Iwaizumi said. 

Oikawa felt himself scowl. "I just fixed your entire 'death' issue - which usually is a bit of a major problem for most people, and you don't even thank me?"

Iwaizumi scowled back readily, ghostly arms folding over his chest. "So you don't know."

Resigning himself, Oikawa shut his eyes, lowering his previously excited hands. "No. I don't."

For a heartbeat, Iwaizumi gazed at him, then sighed softly. "Luckily, I think I can help with that. Or well, Daichi can. Once he senses I'm dead, he should pay us a visit soon, and then I'll talk to him."

"What are you going to talk about?" Yahaba asked, and Iwaizumi shook his head. 

"I'll tell you afterwards, when it's all sorted out."

The sunlight shifted through the air, and silence settled on them, their eyes gently avoiding Iwaizumi's corpse, still motionless on the floor, the stagnant blood soaking into the wood. 

"I can't believe I mourned you when you weren't even dead," Oikawa commented. 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. "You have my deepest condolences."

"I'm getting food," Kyoutani stated, and headed to the kitchen. Yahaba shrugged and followed him. 

They kept Iwaizumi's body as cold as possible, Oikawa cooling a few cloths with his breath, and placing them near Iwaizumi's corpse. Iwaizumi watched on impassively, only interfering when Oikawa tried to stick his finger into his ear "as revenge for making him worry."

Oikawa washed away the blood as best he could, under Iwaizumi’s watchful eye. No matter how hard he tried, there was always some left, a faint pink stuck to his robes.

Oikawa dreamed too deeply. 

Iwaizumi's death had shaken him, a weakened skin, the dried blood coating his memories too thin to protect him anymore. He used to be used to death, the raging grief, the suppression, the acceptance, until the final, quiet distance. 

Oikawa's feet were buried in sand. The grains grated against his skin, causing his toes to itch and his soles to feel like the granules were wriggling their way into his flesh like tiny maggots. He tried to pull them out, but they stuck fast. Glancing up he saw a soft face, her square, round cheeks and button nose, eyes shining at him expectantly, her Breath contained in her hand, waiting for his instruction. 

He felt the words on his tongue, slicing through his lips, but he couldn't hear them. 

She nodded, and stepped back, obeying without thought. Disciplined through and through. Wrong spell. Wrong words. One wrong fatal command. 

And before Oikawa's glued mouth, droplets of crimson appeared at her throat. 

Oikawa felt all his breath leave him, his lungs limp and floundering in his chest, and knew he was the cause, knew he was feeling what she must've, as blood stained sand and her wide eyes pierced through his. The sand crept up his legs, crawling underneath his skin, and she collapsed forwards into the sand, only her blonde hair blossoming across the granules. Oikawa bent forwards with her, hands scratching at his face. He knew how this ended. 

Before the sand consumed him, he heard a voice.

"Oikawa?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi, as solid as bone, stood nearby, walking towards him. 

"Are you okay? Who is she?"

Oikawa felt his brow crease with confusion, the pain of the sand ebbing away. "Why are you here? You're not supposed to be here. This isn't how this goes."

Iwaizumi reached him, and caught his shoulder firmly. "You looked like you were having a bad dream."

A dream. He was in a dream. Oikawa gazed at Iwaizumi, at his earnest face, and the sands faded away. 

Oikawa woke abruptly, his chest expanding with more breath than he thought possible. Immediately, he felt a searing warmth on top of his hand, and he jerked his hand away, looking over at Iwaizumi's Breath. 

"Ah… sorry," Iwaizumi apologised, flickering a dark purple for an instant. "I thought I might be able to wake you up, but instead…"

"You were in my dream?!" Oikawa sat bolt upright, flinging back the sheets. "What were you doing in my room in the first place?!"

Iwaizumi didn't move. "I knew you were having a nightmare, and you were. You're welcome."

Jabbing a finger at him, careful not to touch him, Oikawa hissed out, "Never do that again. They're my dreams, my punishment. What gives you the right to interfere?"

"Your punishment?" Iwaizumi repeated incredulously. "For making a single mistake?"

"She died because of my single mistake."

He heard Iwaizumi's disbelieving huff. "You're that much of a narcissist that you think her death is your fault? Not everything hinges on your actions. Shit happens all the time. I died. I just have to deal with it." 

Oikawa's hands gripped the sides of the bed tightly, his breath coming out quicker, shallower. "It's my fault, and I deserve to suffer nightmares," he said quietly. "You don't know the full story. So, please… don't do anything."

He felt Iwaizumi's aura drift around, sitting down beside him. Oikawa didn't want to look at him, he didn't want anyone to know about them, he hadn't wanted for him to know - Oikawa closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Iwa-chan, leave."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Iwaizumi replied and the strength in his voice made Oikawa droop his head down further. 

"Iwa-chan, I don't want to argue with you. I'm tired."

A warmth slowly infused through Oikawa's side, and glancing over, he saw Iwaiumi's Breath leaning against him, his form half-melding through Oikawa's. The weariness in Oikawa waned, dripping from him bit by bit, as if Iwaizumi's soul was absorbing his sorrow, and the warmth became more intense, almost too hot to bear. Oikawa's back straightened, and his fingers relaxed, his eyes blinking away the drying tears. His skin, where Iwaizumi's Breath had wrapped around him, felt like it was burning. It was like getting a hug from a friendly fire. 

"How did you do that?" Oikawa asked, his voice breaking the loud silence. 

Iwaizumi shrugged, tilting away from Oikawa and floating to his feet again. "Same way I entered into your dream. I touched you with the intention to help."

Licking his lips, Oikawa managed a dry smile. "Thanks, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi's Breath smiled back. "Get some sleep. I'll get out of your room."

"I, uh…" Oikawa's mouth was too arid. "I don't mind if you stay. I mean, it's not as if I care at all, in fact I don't care one ounce, and you can do whatever you want to, but if you want to, I wouldn't kick you out. It's both of ours, after all." 

The corner of Iwaizumi's mouth lifted. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll wander around the forest, scout out some food for tomorrow."

"Practical bastard," Oikawa muttered underneath his breath.

"What?"

"I said goodnight."

Iwaizumi's large mouth split into a smile, and Oikawa realised that he was actually laughing at him, like a true bastard. 

"Goodnight to you too, asshole. Sweet dreams."

Before Oikawa could metaphorically slap him, Iwaizumi had phased through the door. His mind buzzing, and an uncomfortable amount of heat gathering in his cheeks, Oikawa swung his legs back into bed, hoping for sleep. 

Daichi arrived at their door the next morning at dawn, face grey and drawn, worry dragging at his eyes. 

"Good morning," he started politely, eyes flitting past Oikawa. "Where's Iwaizumi?"

Oikawa's chest sank. "He's dead."

Daichi closed his eyes, taking a breath. His lips trembled, but he pressed them together, holding it in. "I knew it, but I prayed it wasn't as it appeared. Is the heir safe?"

"Also bad news on that front. The stranger took him, and I got stabbed."

"Is everyone else okay?"

"The two little boys weren't here, so they're okay. Are you going to ask me how I am or will I die too? Hey, how did you know Iwa-chan was dead?'

"He stopped responding to me, as well as his mark. I had hoped that possibly it was just him being preoccupied, but…" Daichi shook his head and stepped inside. "Tell me everything. How did it happen?'

Oikawa explained as shortly as he could, trying his best to keep his voice chipper and upbeat. During the story, Yahaba and Kyoutani drifted in, adding in pieces Oikawa missed here and there. It wasn't a very long story, and they were done within ten minutes. 

"So, in short…" Daichi's dark eyes slowly covered all of them. "Iwaizumi died, but his Breath is still here, but only Oikawa can see it, because the heir somehow connected the two of you. The heir has been captured, and we have no way of knowing where he is."

Oikawa sniffed. "You forgot to mention my brilliant plan about resurrecting Iwa-chan."

Yahaba leaned forwards, fingers tangled together. "Iwaizumi-san told us that you could help us with finding the heir."

Daichi nodded. "To a certain extent, yes. May I speak with him in private? I understand Oikawa must be there, but apart from him.."

"We understand, Daichi-san," Yahaba replied, laying a hand on Kyoutani's arm. They left, and Daichi begrudgingly touched Oikawa's wrist. 

"Hey, Daichi," Iwaizumi greeted him from behind Oikawa. 

Oikawa turned, seeing him wiggle his fingers in a little half-wave. 

"This is… new," Daichi mentioned, examining Iwaizumi closely. "How do you feel, Iwaizumi?"

Iwaizumi came nearer, floating to sit down in the seat next to Oikawa. "A bit out of it, but apart from that? Normal enough. It’s nice having two arms again, even if I can't use them. In any case, we have more urgent things to discuss."

They launched into conversation, and Oikawa listened closely, deciding to forgo his ego to gather information. 

Daichi nodded thoughtfully. 

“She certainly fit the description. I am cautious to be sure that it’s the same person, but her motive is clear. She needs the heir to become a legitimate ruler.”

“They were right to send you to keep an eye on her.” 

Oikawa’s gaze ghosted towards Iwaizumi with an inquiry, and Iwaizumi nodded. “Yeah, the one who killed me. I wasn’t sure it was her until now. We’ve known about her for some time, but she hadn’t done anything to illicit our attention until the revolt.” 

“She was simply marked as a dangerous and volatile individual.I was sent to, ah, record her activities, after making sure any connection of mine to Edictio was severed.”

“With a faked death,” Oikawa filled in. “But weren’t you leading a bandit group?” 

Daichi gave him a wry smile. “If you want to call it that.” 

Oikawa arched an eyebrow. “I suppose attacking the king’s caravans isn’t bandit behaviour?”

“It wasn’t a mindless act. Now, can we focus on our plan instead?” 

“How about you tell me about Edictio first?” Oikawa asked, leaning forwards. “Is this the cult Iwaizumi is part of? Why are they interested in the heir in the first place? Do you have plans to control the throne yourself?” 

Giving him a tight smile, Daichi exchanged a glance with Iwaizumi. “Let’s just focus on what we have to do first, then we’ll explain as much as we can. We’ve limited time before she decides to act, and we need to be prepared, no matter what her intentions are. She have control of Aecus, and we can't allow her to disrupt the kingdom's stability any more.” 

“I can see why you and Iwa-chan get along,” Oikawa commented, tapping the table with a long finger. “You’re both so reasonably boring.”

Daichi’s eyes flicked up to meet Iwaizumi’s. “Is he normally like this?” 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi sighed. “Just try to ignore him.” 

Sinking into a sulk, Oikawa listened mutely, with a scowl on his face both other men ignored, as they hitched together a strategy. 

They presented it a few minutes later. 

“Alright, here’s the plan. Yahaba and Kyoutani, you come with me back to Flightless to warn them and Edictio of the threat,” Daichi began. “Oikawa and Iwaizumi are going to find Mattsun, in Eurus' mountains to try to return him to his body, and rejoin us as soon as possible. We'll go from there."

“Wait, what about my training?” Yahaba argued, and Oikawa’s eyebrows lifted. “Kyoutani’s is suspended obviously, but there’s no reason Oikawa-san needs to cease mine. If I go, I can help carry Iwaizumi-san’s body while Oikawa-san trains me.” 

"Who says his is suspended?" Iwaizumi demanded, so close to his ear Oikawa flinched. 

"Do you mind?!" he snapped out, and Yahaba frowned.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Oikawa, tell Kyoutani that his training is not suspended just because I died," Iwaizumi ordered, crossing his arms and glaring over at Kyoutani. "I want him going through maneuvers ten times a day, at least, in my absence. I'll be testing him on all of them as soon as I get back. I mean, I have almost no faith that this will work, but don't let him know that."

"Thanks," Oikawa grouched, and sighed, turning to Kyoutani. "It was just Iwa-chan having a meltdown because Yahaba said your training was suspended. Iwa-chan wants you to know that he'll be testing you on those maneuvers when he gets back, and that he wants you to practice them at least ten times a day."

Kyoutani groaned, and Iwaizumi's aura glimmered crimson. "Tell him that I'll know if he doesn't," he hissed out.

"No. Shut up," Oikawa whispered back, and his eyes flicked to Yahaba. “So you’re willing to continue training with me?” 

Although his teeth were gritted and his mouth downturned, Yahaba nodded. “For the moment.” 

Oikawa gave him a cold grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then you better be careful not to die on me.” 

“Tell him to take Kyoutani’s bow,” Iwaizumi mentioned, floating nearby. “The one you made. He’ll need it more.” 

Oikawa gestured over to the bow stacked beside the doorway. “Yahaba, grab that bow. Iwa-chan says you should have it for now.” 

Yahaba nodded, reaching for it, and hesitated. “What about transporting Iwaizumi-san’s body?”

Oikawa glanced over to Daichi. “Do you happen to have a Deus Ex Machina up your sleeve by chance?” 

“Not for hauling dead bodies, no.”

“We’re going to have to buy a horse and cart.” Yahaba said. 

“Horses hate me," Oikawa complained. "And I hate them. They're smelly, hard to control and there's always a risk of getting kicked in the head and dying instantly."

Beaming, Yahaba perked up. “It’s a good thing they love me then! Let’s go!” 

"Be cautious," Daichi warned. "Eurus' mountains aren't under the king's domain. They're almost as unstable as the kingdom at the moment, and you don't have a fighter anymore."

"Thank you for pointing that out," Oikawa replied blankly. "But I've survived on my own for decades, I think I can manage a little mountain stroll."

"If you say so," Daichi conceded, and Oikawa's eyes narrowed for a heartbeat. 

Before he could push back, Kyoutani stepped forwards, eyes locked on one person.

“Daichi,” Kyoutani said lowly, and Daichi held up a hand. 

“Before you say anything, I want to apologise again,” he told them, so sincerely even Oikawa felt it in his chest. “I failed to consider just how much it would put all of you through. I’m sorry.” 

Kyoutani shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re not dead.” 

Stepping up beside him, Yahaba laid a hand on his shoulder and gave Daichi a weak smile. “We’re both glad you’re not dead.” 

“And-“ he added, throwing a glance over at Oikawa. “While we’re at it, we’re very glad Iwaizumi-san isn’t completely dead either.”

“Thanks, kid.” 

“He says fuck you,” Oikawa translated, earning him a death glower from Iwaizumi. 

Daichi stepped forwards, outstretching his hand. "Meet us back at our camp as soon as you can. Yahaba knows where it is. I wish you the best of luck getting Iwaizumi back into his body. May The Lady bless your journey."

Oikawa took his hand, his long fingers almost stretching around the width of Daichi's firm palm. Maybe it was Oikawa's imagination, but he thought that Daichi gripped harder than necessary. Oikawa smiled thinly. 

Outside, the dawn broke into morning, and the land woke up, trees unfurling in the sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave it with a cliffhanger because that would be too cruel :')   
> and I want this to be LIGHT fantasy we're here for a good time not major character death   
> (yet)  
> Have a good day!


	5. Memories and Resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi and Oikawa begin to understand each other. Iwaizumi fights to get his body back, and Matsukawa decides to try and speed things along. Oh, and Yahaba suffers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mattsun!! Makki!! The Boys!! I love them!!  
> This one's a little longer than usual, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless :)

It had taken Iwaizumi a while to notice, but, seeing through his Breath, Oikawa glowed, like embers encased in coal. Like as if you cracked his skin there would be a vast golden cavern inside his bones. It was hard to focus on him, but once Iwaizumi did, he could see trails of shimmering smoke lifting from every inch of his skin, diffusing through his clothes and fading into the air. 

He’d tried to see if a similar phenomenon happened when he focused on Yahaba, but there was no sign of any glowing. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t a strong enough Breather? In any case, Iwaizumi knew now why Oikawa’s senses were so acute. 

It made it hard to take his eyes off Oikawa, if he was being honest. 

He saw how heavily his death weighed on Yahaba. Iwaizumi was sure that his train of thought likely punished him for the fact that he wasn't there, that he didn't save Iwaizumi like he saved Oikawa. Iwaizumi wanted to console him, but to do that he'd have to talk to Oikawa first. 

They were trudging through the Var, the grassland skirtings of Eurus' main towns, avoiding any major establishments. By day, they travelled relentlessly, trundling along on the small one-horse wagon, Iwaizumi's body stashed underneath cloth. By night, Oikawa trained Yahaba with a steel tongue and a stern eye, barely disguised by his lighthearted tone as he casually ripped into every mistake Yahaba made. 

Iwaizumi found it difficult to adapt to his non-physical form, finding himself leaning back against a tree and subsequently falling back through it, reaching for objects before catching himself, embarrassed. Sometimes Oikawa saw him trying to pet their horse, but the horse's skin just shivered, as if brushing off a fly. Oikawa didn't even try to contain his smirk, which irritated Iwaizumi. It wasn't as if the horse liked him any better - Yahaba's gentle voice was the only reason it walked for them at all. 

Speaking of Yahaba, something was bothering him, Iwaizumi could tell. His fingers kept twitching, kept scratching at themselves, as if he could physically get rid of the itch. His gaze never rested on Oikawa for more than a trok before skittering away again, and eventually Oikawa was sick of it.

"Yahaba, my dearest trainee, what's the matter?"

"Ah, nothing…"

Oikawa sighed. "Don't lie to me, Yahaba. Or at least get better at lying before you try, okay? It's cute that you're trying, but right now I'd rather you just ask your question."

"Well, um.." Yahaba scratched the back of his head. “Remember when we found you two dying? You had your hand over Iwaizumi-san’s. I was just wondering if…” 

“No.” 

Iwaizumi looked over at Oikawa, who refused to meet his eyes. 

“Okay...”

“You don’t sound sure. How can you not sound sure?” Oikawa turned around on light feet, gesturing over his body. “Why do you have doubt? Do you really think that Iwa-chan deserves _this_?” 

It was forced, and everyone knew it. Yahaba, as consolation, offered a pained smile, Iwaizumi gave Oikawa a death glare, and Oikawa dropped his hands and sighed. He waved off the stares, continuing on his way. 

"Fine. If you don't appreciate the masterpiece that is my body someone else will. Namely, me.”

They continued in strained silence. Oikawa didn’t look at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi struggled to patch up the tension in the air. 

Through the nothing, the sounds of sobbing drifted over to them. They had been steadily skirting around the edges of any villages they saw, and as Iwaizumi drew his gaze up the hill to their right, he saw a little house perched on top, as if balanced exactly right to not topple over. A small figure was bent over halfway down the hill, and as Iwaizumi focused, he could see a smaller lump in front of him. 

Yahaba slowed down, surveying the scene, and Oikawa’s gaze latched onto him. They heard a soft, crooked howl, as if the animal’s lungs were sliding sideways, moving the air as it whined. As they drew a little closer, crying from the child drifted over to them. Yahaba’s path changed.

Oikawa grabbed his upper arm with a bruising force. “Don’t interfere.” 

Throwing a glance to the dying animal, Yahaba shook his head. “I can help, Oikawa-san. What’s the point of being able to Breathe if I can’t help people?” 

“It’s not worth it. It’s a pet,” Oikawa told him. 

“So I’ll be able to heal it! _Sana_ , right?” 

Pulling away, Yahaba turned, Oikawa's 'tsk' meaning nothing to him. He hurried towards the fallen dog, and Iwaizumi saw Oikawa's fingers twitch. Oikawa suddenly lurched forwards, catching Yahaba's shoulder, who stumbled backwards to keep his balance. 

"Oikawa-san -"

"Don't help them," Oikawa said, and his fingers dug hard into Yahaba's skin. "I'm your mentor, you agreed to listen to me."

Iwaizumi floated up to Oikawa's shoulder, seeing Yahaba's brief flash of anger before he took hold of Oikawa's wrist and tore it from his body. Abruptly, Oikawa stepped back, and into Iwaizumi's chest. 

Images blew through Iwaizumi's eyes, of grey walls and greyer faces surrounding, all looming larger than normal, and his throat closed up, strangled by fear. He was boxed in, and his eyes plummeted to the bed in front of him, a single thin blanket covering a still human form.

_Heal him. Heal him. You can help him, stop him dying! He's your friend, isn't he? Heal him then._

_Why wouldn't you?_

_You selfish boy -_

Iwaizumi felt a palm strike his face, jolting him backwards, away from Oikawa. Instantly everything faded - the bed, the body, the demanding people - and he blinked, feeling the sting pulse along the entire side of his face. 

"I told you never to do that again!"

"What?" Iwaizumi said, still reeling from the sudden transition. Was the slap from the memory? Or had Oikawa somehow backhanded him from his head? 

Oikawa marched up in front of him, inhaling hard. "Don't touch me."

"I didn't mean to, you moved and -"

"Then move away!"

"Oikawa-"

Oikawa had already spun around and was striding towards Yahaba, who was now kneeling over the dog, talking lowly to the fiery-haired boy beside him.

Yahaba glanced up as Oikawa approached, his eyes wide. "I can't heal him. It's not working. Why isn’t it working?” 

With a sigh, Oikawa knelt down, and looked towards the boy, hand hovering over the dog's shuddering chest. The boy gave a nod, his bottom lip trembling. 

"Will she die? I don't want her to die," he said, and Oikawa exhaled. 

"I'm not sure yet."

"It's okay if she's going to -" a half-choked hiccup "- you can tell me. I can handle it."

"We'll see," Oikawa replied, rubbing the dog's back, his hand light and touch tender. It surprised Iwaizumi to see him handle anything so carefully. 

" _Detractisque corticibus,_ " Oikawa Breathed softly.

"Haven't learned that one yet," Yahaba muttered underneath his breath. 

"Nobody's blaming you for not being able to heal her," Iwaizumi said, before realising Yahaba couldn't hear him. He looked down at his hands, through his hands, and felt small. 

He wished he could use his form to heal people, to breathe life into them, but he was useless. 

In a few troks, Iwaizumi saw golden smoke rise from the chest of the beast and filter back into Oikawa's body, leaving the chest rising and falling in a natural rhythm. It gave one more confused whine before flopping from its side onto its feet, lifting and dropping its paws, as if in disbelief. Iwaizumi briefly wondered if animals knew when they were dying. 

"Buccans!" The boy squealed, hugging it close, squishing his cheek against the fur, grinning.

Oikawa got to his feet, pulling Yahaba up by his shoulder too. "Good deed done. Let's go."

Iwaizumi saw a woman rushing down the hill to the boy, her feet only covered by hastily chosen flat shoes. She opened her arms, and the boy ran to her, attaching himself to her hip as Buccans wound herself between his legs. 

"Mom, look at what those men did! They saved Buccans!"

The woman regarded Oikawa and Yahaba, distrust in her eyes, holding her child close. "Did they now?"

"Yes, yes! Buccans was attacked by a giant _paisl_ , and then it dropped her, and she wasn't moving much and she was whining badly and I thought… But she's alright now! They did the thing that Daddy used to do!"

The hostility drained from her eyes, older than her face. She nodded slowly. "Thank you."

Oikawa smiled, waving. "It was no trouble at all! We were just passing through, we'll be on our way now-"

She raised a hand. "No, no. We must repay you." She dropped her gaze, meeting her son's eyes. "I can't imagine how devastated he would be if Buccans died. I can't pay you for your services -"

"Absolutely not necessary," Oikawa interrupted with an easy smile. 

"-But I've just prepared dinner, if you want some," she finished, and Yahaba looked over at Oikawa. 

Iwaizumi tried to remember the last time they'd eaten. Oikawa ran a brutal schedule, seemingly able to go days without food, and it had been apparent Yahaba was not used to it. After a trok of staring at Oikawa's fixed smile with beseeching eyes, his trainee finally made him cave in. 

"We can't stay long," he told her, throwing a glance over at Yahaba. 

"Better eat quick, then! Oh, I hope to the Lady that you like _huse_ , it's so common around here that we use it in everything we eat!"

"Oh, I love it," Oikawa affirmed, and nudged Yahaba.

"Yes, I adore it," Yahaba said. 

They left the wagon just outside the cottage, as the path to Matsukawa's was on the other side of the hill anyways. And as promised, a dinner was ready for them - 

"Luckily I always prepare dinner for two days, so there's more than enough for everyone! Eat as much as you'd like!" 

-and Iwaizumi loitered by the corner of the kitchen, watching as everyone ate and chatted. He'd forgotten how good Oikawa could be at small talk when he needed or wanted to be, and before long any reservations the mother had had about the strange magickers had passed. Every so often, Oikawa glanced over at him and winked, complimenting the food. Fucker. 

"It's the creamiest I've ever tasted, even since when I visited -"

Oikawa abruptly cut himself off, rising from the table. He looked around at the family, and asked, "Pardon my rudeness, but are you burning something?"

The mother shook her head, and glanced over at Yahaba, who had half-stood from his seat as well, eyes focused on Oikawa. "You smell fire?"

Oikawa plastered a smile over his face, and he swiftly pulled his chair back from the table. "My apologies, but I have to go and check something very quickly. I'll be back in two troks."

He left the room, leaving everyone exchanging glances. 

"He can be… odd," Yahaba said, sitting down again, but the crease in his forehead didn't straighten out. 

"Oh, it's no trouble a' all. We know how strange magickers seem to us ordinary people who can't see half the things ya can."

Yahaba laughed nervously.

Curious to what Oikawa thought he noticed, Iwaizumi passed through the walls to outside the door, missing the sensation he'd always taken for granted ; cold night air dappling his face. His thoughts were yanked away from the air however, because their wagon, left a few meters in front of the house, was on fire. Their horse was nowhere to be seen, tethers slashed. 

Iwaizumi stared at it, the orange eating through the cloth roof, the breaking of wooden bones, the greediness of the smoke trying to block out the stars. He felt himself dropping, dropping through the smoke, into the fire, his hands, blackened with the charcoal from the door he’d punched through, clenched around ankles. He remembered how the cottage crackled around him, echoing in his ears, telling him he’d been gone too long and arrived too late. 

But his back was met with cold air and he dragged his grandmother out into the open, chest heaving. Desperately, he pressed his small hand to the side of her neck, searching, praying for a beat. There was nothing. Her blood was still. Iwaizumi's throat closed. 

Through the rushing in his ears and the sounds of his home burning, he heard footsteps.

The firestarters had seen the caved-in door and returned to stare, torches in hand. To Iwaizumi, through his tears, the blurred flames made it look like the dull grey clouds were on fire. It felt like it. It felt like the sky was burning. 

They closed in around him, torch ends beating on scorched earth. They wanted him back in the house, to burn and cleanse their village. He was the devil child with white in his hair. He deserved to die with ash in his lungs. 

Iwaizumi folded himself over his grandmother’s warm body and waited for them to burn him too. His sobs pulsated within his chest, jarring his lungs, then shook his shoulders, and soon his grief was reverberating the air on his skin. With every heartbeat his irises grew white and his misery grew wider, and he looked up to see the circle of villagers at a standstill. He was in the centre of solid wind, pushing them back, the flames of the house bent away from him, their torches dead. There was new fear in their faces as they ran, but he hurt so badly and the power was going to tear him apart he felt it let it out let it out -

The winds cut through flesh with his scream, and then Oikawa fled through him. 

He jerked back to the present. 

He didn’t know if being nothing but Breath affected his state, because the memory was far more vivid than any nightmare he’d had before. He could still feel the dry crust of ash over his lips, tempered only by the salt in his tears. As for the fire here and now… he saw Oikawa rush out, followed closely by Yahaba, to the wagon, the fire quickly taking hold of the dry wood. The family's voices rose in an incomprehensible babble behind him as he moved towards the fire, not nearly as fast as he'd like, but he was restrained to a mediocre floating. 

Bundling his sleeves around his hands, Oikawa grabbed the edges of Iwaizumi's board and yanked it backwards, the fire curling around his arms, mingling with the gold dust. A moment later, Yahaba caught up and grabbed the bottom too. 

Helpless, Iwaizumi circled them, watching as his body finally thudded onto the ground, and Oikawa smothered the fire's hold on his robes. His hands were red, and he cursed, spitting on them in an attempt to cool them down. 

Yahaba stepped forwards. "I can heal -"

"I'm not letting you anywhere near my wounds," Oikawa said. "Stop wasting time and get the food out."

The fire must've been struck with oil from the Elklands, because there was no taming the blaze. Only death of the wagon would stop it, and die the wagon did, slowly collapsing under the weight of the flames, night-black wood piling onto the brown grass. Iwaizumi examined his body, now with charred clothes, red and peeling raw skin seen through the massive holes. 

Oikawa saw him looking. "You're welcome."

"So if I do manage to get back into my body, I'll have third degree burns?"

"I'll fix them as soon as you're back. Unless I die. In that case, you're on your own, dear Iwa-chan."

"He has really hairy legs…" Yahaba murmured to himself. 

"Yes.." Oikawa agreed. "He really does, doesn't he? And weirdly shaped knees."

Before Iwaizumi could strike back, the mother abruptly rushed out of the doorway, grabbing Oikawa's arm. "You should leave, right now. They're coming from the village. They're not content with burning your things."

Oikawa stiffened, and Iwaizumi cut his gaze over to the village settled at the hill's end. 

A crowd had emerged from the village, at a distance where Iwaizumi could just about make out their faces, shadowed by torchlight. They trudged up the slope, a low murmuring chanting amongst them rising into the sky. Oikawa turned his back to them, arms crossed, as Yahaba watched from the corner of his eyes, taking shallow breaths. A spike of anxiety hit Iwaizumi's chest, and he observed Oikawa, whose whole body was tense, his mouth set solidly. 

The boy dropped to a crouch and wrapped his arms around his dog, hiding his face behind her fur. 

"Oikawa-san," Yahaba whispered. "They're coming closer."

"I know," Oikawa said, unmoving. 

The mother went to the boy, bending down to grip his arm. "Go inside. Don't come out until I tell you to."

"But -"

"Go inside."

The boy clambered to his feet, still clutching his dog's fur. Oikawa turned to the mother. "You go inside too."

"But maybe I can talk to them. They know me."

Oikawa gave her a tight smile. "I can talk too. Trust me. I've had a lot of practice."

With one last glance at the advancing crowd, she nodded, ushering her son on through the doorway in front of her. 

"You weren't lying, were you?" Yahaba asked, eyes darting from the door to the horde. "About having practice at this?"

"No." Oikawa pointed at him. "And stay back, but stay here. You have to watch this."

Yahaba licked his lips, and Iwaizumi drifted nearer, wishing he could place a hand on his shoulder. "They're nearly here, Oikawa-san. They're enclosing us."

Sighing, Oikawa turned around to face the circle. He spread his arms in welcome, his head tilting to the side. If Iwaizumi hadn't known to look for the tenseness in the edges of his mouth, or the tendons tight in his neck, Oikawa would've looked like the perfect picture of relaxation. 

“What can I do for you all pleasant folks today?”

Their voices were unsynced, a driving onslaught of “Die!”

“Ah, I’m afraid that option is not available right now. Care to try again tomorrow?” Oikawa smiled widely, wiggling his fingers in a pleasant wave. 

One man stepped out of the line of people, his brow dark and his fingers white around the torch handle. The gap he left was instantly closed over, as if they were afraid Oikawa would make a break for it. Looking at Yahaba's white face, Iwaizumi knew that Oikawa wouldn't be the one trying to run. 

“Why are you still here? Go away! Didn't you get the message? We don't want your kind here.” He thrust the torch forwards, flames licking inches away from Oikawa’s nose. 

Oikawa gave him a mocking smile. “Why do you have a torch? That’s vampires you’re thinking about. I hate to break it to you, but I’m not scared of fire.” 

“All mortals burn. Even skuts.” 

The man waved it in his face, and Oikawa’s smile broadened. All Iwaizumi saw was a quick, slender whip of gold through the air, and then the top of the torch was sliding off of the wood, dropping to the ground. A clean cut through the handle. Oikawa stepped forwards, extinguishing the flame beneath his boot.

“Leave,” Oikawa told him, eyes cold. "If you like your neck."

The man backed up, whispers breaking out in the crowd. "You're a demon. You're not natural." 

"You're right, I'm far superior to anything natural and any one of you." Oikawa raised his voice, commanding attention, sweeping his arm through the air. "Don't you all have families? Someone who loves you at home? Wouldn't it be a shame if you never returned to them?"

His grin made Iwaizumi shiver. And a heartbeat later, the gold smoke flicked out of Oikawa's mouth and Iwaizumi started. 

"Oikawa you can't kill-"

It welded together, shimmering like a flat metallic whip, and drove through the air, striking every person in the circle on the chest, slamming them onto their backs. Iwaizumi was relieved to see no blood, nothing but a shallow cut on one man's shirt front. Oikawa's Breath gathered back to him, the only one standing in a circle of flattened bodies. 

Turning back around, Oikawa’s smile vanished. “ _Ikoli_.” 

He turned to Yahaba, who was watching the crowd scrabble to their feet, hastily backing down the slope to the main village. "You need to learn how to wield your Breath as a weapon of fear, not only healing. Some situations can't be resolved by words."

Yahaba, who looked like his throat was clogged with rocks, gave a hesitant nod. "I know."

The door of the cottage opened, and the mother peeked out, before jogging up to them. With a faint, pitying smile, she offered an explanation. 

"They don't like magickers in this village, good or not. You're all the same to them. I'm sorry, I thought nobody saw what you did, but their children sometimes play near here, by the forest."

Oikawa gave her a flat smile. "I see. Do you mind giving us a minute?"

"Of course not. I'm sorry about that."

"It's not an issue. It happens," Oikawa comforted her, but once the door shut behind her his expression closed off, too. 

He looked across at Yahaba, who turned his head away. "I didn't know that-"

"But I did," Oikawa said. "I warned you. I told you we were going to suffer because of your good intentions."

“But the dog would’ve -“

“It’s a fucking dog, Yahaba.”

"If we had helped -“

Oikawa snorted. “‘We.’ Yeah, sure. You sure were helpful.” 

“- and then if we hadn't stopped for food-“

"We would've stopped later for the night, and then they would've caught up to us, and maybe burned more than our wagon."

Yahaba let his gaze drop to the ground, and he hugged himself, exhaling deeply. "I'm sorry."

Iwaizumi saw something in Oikawa's hard eyes give way. With a long sigh, Oikawa stepped forwards, placing a hesitant hand on Yahaba's shoulder. 

"I've been through this before. If I advise something, it's for good reason, okay?"

"Okay." Yahaba still didn’t look up. 

"Not to mention the fact that I'm older, wiser, and definitely better than you in any way possible."

"I almost respected you there for a moment," Iwaizumi told him, and Oikawa flashed him a grin. 

"You can't deny the truth forever, Iwa-chan!"

“Oikawa-san,” Yahaba said, and Oikawa’s attention turned back to him. Yahaba held out his arms, wrists rotated upwards. “I promise to do as you say. Even if I don’t understand, or even if there’s a life on the line.” 

“You promised that before,” Oikawa reminded him. “Back in the cave, remember? I should’ve cut you loose by now for your disobedience.” 

Yahaba nodded. “I understand that. But you didn’t, and I know now. I’ll do better.” 

After a moment, Oikawa nodded back, placing his hands on the underside of his arms. A resealing. 

It didn't take them long to gather up their things. The family loaned them a donkey, and Iwaizumi's body, wrapped in cloth, was strapped onto it. With the scant supplies they'd salvaged from the fire, they hiked up and away from the village, afraid that the family's house would be next. 

"How do you know that they won't burn it down simply for helping us, even if we're not there?" Yahaba asked Oikawa, his eyes holding a storm. 

"We don't," Oikawa said, and his knuckles were white on the strap of his bag. 

Iwaizumi watched as Yahaba's face fell, his teeth catching his lower lip, trying to steady the trembling. He wished he could comfort him, but he was only a whisper more than light, and even if he wasn't, he knew Oikawa spoke the truth. 

Soon after, they entered the forest at the bottom of the mountains, which Oikawa assured them wasn't far from their destination. One more day's travel, and they would be there. As Yahaba and Oikawa set up camp with what they had, Iwaizumi let his eyes wander across the contorted trees, with loops for branches and screaming faces etched into the bark. For a heartbeat, he saw them move their mouths, stretch them wide open, wider than living jaws would be able, as if trying to escape the trunk. Iwaizumi blinked, and the bark was simply bark again, shadowed with the slanted, dying light. 

"Oikawa, are you sure that this forest is a safe one?"

He turned, and saw Oikawa gesturing up the length of a tree with his elegant hand, speaking to Yahaba. As soon as he stopped speaking, he Breathed, and now that Iwaizumi was Breath too, he saw Oikawa's Breath for what it really was. It was an almost solid stream of the gold smoke detaching from Oikawa's body and diffusing in through the tree, unfolding baby leaves, growing adult ones even more, spreading branches wider. Within a few moments, the gold returned to Oikawa, flowing in through his slightly parted lips and up his nose. Iwaizumi found himself wondering if his lips tasted like gold, too. 

Oikawa turned his gaze to him, and Iwaizumi quickly averted his eyes from Oikawa's mouth. 

"It never gave me trouble when I was travelling through it," Oikawa said, catching his breath. "Why? Is the great Iwaizumi Hajime scared of a few bendy trees?"

Iwaizumi scowled. "Go back to Breathing on leaves."

"Good idea - I shouldn't be doing this. That's what I have an underling for," Oikawa said, patting Yahaba on the shoulder. "Go on, grow some trees for us."

Sidling over to the nearest tree, Yahaba stared at it, scratching the back of his neck. Then he placed his hand on the tree bark. After a few troks of nothing, Oikawa sighed. 

"I've taught you how to heal, haven't I? It's the same thing. The trees want to grow, they just need a little push. It's the same with cells, blood, bone, bark. Tap into their potential and add a little more of your own, and it'll spill over. Do the hand motions if it helps you visualise the path your Breath's taking."

Iwaizumi had to say, he was shocked to hear Oikawa actually mentor for once, and not just berate. 

Nodding, Yahaba focused on the tree again, this time looking upwards, so some of the evening sunlight poured through the leaves and illuminated sections of his face. It looked like splotches of yellow paint were fading into his skin. Slowly, he exhaled, and Iwaizumi felt his own Breath shift, as if drawn to the temporarily empty vessel. Yahaba's Breath was a cloud of light blue, barely visible against the dark bark as it diffused through. Bracing himself against the weak pull, Iwaizumi saw the tree's branches extend, fingers reaching over Yahaba, the sunlight streaks narrowing to nothing, leaves blooming wider and greener. After a trok or two, the cloud of blue streamed back past Yahaba's lips.

Oikawa raised his eyebrows, and Yahaba grinned over at him, knowing he did well. 

"Well.” Oikawa paused, and Yahaba's grin wavered. Then Oikawa smiled. "Good job, Yahaba. You're improving really quickly."

"Tell him I'm impressed," Iwaizumi said.

"Iwa-chan thinks you could use a bit more improvement though," Oikawa said. 

Yahaba shook his head. "I don't think Iwaizumi-san would say that. Thank you, though, Oikawa-san."

"Don't get too comfortable, we still need to run through those containing exercises," Oikawa reminded him, and Yahaba nodded, eyes still bright from the rare praise. 

"I'll improve in that too, Oikawa-san."

"I'll make sure you do."

Turns out, Breathing was exhausting. Soon after training finished, Yahaba was asleep by the fire, wrapped in borrowed blankets and settled in the comfiest patch of grass he could find. It left Iwaizumi, the sleepless, and Oikawa, the near insomniac, alone. 

Iwaizumi didn't quite know what to say. It was a shitshow for sure, but wasn't that the norm now? Hadn't it always been for people like them? The sight of the fire, so familiar, had sunken him. The slight slope, the grass, the shape of it, all of it was too close. 

He asked a question to distract himself. 

"Would you have killed that man?"

Oikawa's eyes were flat as he stared at the stick in his hands, absently drawing lines in the dirt. For a moment Iwaizumi wasn't even sure that he'd heard his question.

"Maybe. If he'd have threatened anyone more seriously. But he didn't have shit to back up his claims."

"No evasive answer?"

Oikawa gave a little huff. "We're way past that. I thought I could leave, as soon as we met Daichi, he and you could take the heir and I'd be freed of my burden. But then she appeared, and took him. I'm not an idiot, Iwa-chan. Our chances of surviving are a lot higher if you know what to expect from me, and I from you. Which isn't hard on my part, as you're so simple, but to understand a complex being like me, you need more than a few hints."

Iwaizumi wasn't sure whether he should be feeling flattered or insulted. After a few moments of reflection, he realised he felt more grateful that Oikawa was finally being straight with him, and settled on a simple, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

They withdrew back into the noises of the woodland's night and nothing else. Not being able to sleep was a curse - although it didn't affect Iwaizumi physically, it left him with too much time and too many thoughts he couldn't shake. How easily the heir was torn from their protection. How he still hated remembering the fire. How he was hinging his hopes of a rejuvenated body on a man he'd never met and a burned corpse. And, the one he was trying to push away most, how soft Oikawa's structured hands looked. 

Oikawa's voice fractured his thoughts.

“What was that fire?”

Iwaizumi tensed. “What fire?” 

“The fire I saw when I ran through you when you were stupidly blocking the doorway. It wasn’t the same one we were looking at. It was a memory, wasn’t it? One of yours.”

Iwaizumi drew his arms around himself. As if his arms of thin air could offer any comfort. “Yeah.” 

“Who were those people? Osole?” 

Exhaling softly, Iwaizumi turned his face away, sinking his chin onto his knees. “I don’t really want to talk about it.” 

“You interrupted my dream, I have the right to poke about your memory as you did mine.” 

“Why do you care?” 

A pause. 

“We should know each other better,” Oikawa said finally. “I think we’re stuck with each other now. In the literal sense.” 

“Until I get my body back.” 

Oikawa wouldn't look at him. “Mm.” 

“You sound unsure.” 

“The more I think about it…” Oikawa shook his head. “Nevermind. We’re getting off topic.” 

“What about your memory?” Iwaizumi challenged. “You said we should know each other better, so why should I tell you about mine first?” 

He expected a snarky remark, something about his superiority, a reminder of his assholeness. Instead, Oikawa’s face dipped, and he dropped the stick, instead using a finger to draw across the dirt. 

“Do you want to know?” 

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure what the correct answer was, or what Oikawa wanted to hear. It made him uneasy, but he felt as if he was looking at the real Oikawa, not the one performing for others. 

“Yeah.” 

“That boy you saw was my friend. Everyone knew I could heal things, but I was young, about twelve. You saw how Yahaba couldn’t heal that dog. Obviously, I was more talented, but not talented enough. They brought him to me, and I couldn’t do anything.” 

Oikawa gazed at him, his expression flickering in the firelight, the slow rise of smoke more evident than ever. It wasn’t Iwaizumi’s fault that he stared. Oikawa’s eyes were a melting golden brown and his lips met in a perfect Cupid’s bow below his nose. Iwaizumi had never noticed that before. 

"Who's they?" Iwaizumi asked, and Oikawa shook his head. 

"That's all you saw, so that's all you're getting. So, yours?” he prompted. 

Iwaizumi blinked. “Oh, yeah. Um, I…” 

He swallowed, throat dry. When was the last time he’d told this story? Had he told it to anyone before? 

“Come on, cough up your tragic backstory. We’re all traumatised here.” 

Oikawa gave him a dry smile, and to his surprise, Iwaizumi felt like he was trying to send some genuine warmth. It worked, for Iwaizumi swallowed once more, and words began to flow. 

"I lived with my grandmother for years," he said, tongue moving by itself. "After my parents had an accident. My granny lived in the same village, and she took me in. I think I was about five when it happened, but I can't remember too well."

The lie about the accident didn't come as easily as it normally did. Queries about his parents were common, not so much about the fire. Not so much, Oikawa's intense stare, as if he was analysing and dissecting every word, how the word was spoken, the body language accompanying that word, the air displaced by it. It made him recall his brutal transition into the castle's walls, the training he'd been forced through. 

Oikawa cleared his throat, and Iwaizumi realised he'd been silent too long. 

"That's surely not all of it, is it? If so, that's disappointing. That barely qualifies as a backstory, never mind a tragic one."

"My parents are dead."

"Well, you didn't say that! All you said was that there was an accident. Perhaps they'd been injured and unable to take care of a five year old! Don't blame me for your shitty communication."

Instead of irritation, Iwaizumi found himself smiling, and he spread his hands. "Alright, alright. The sad part you saw is coming, okay?"

Oikawa huffed out a breath, the corner of his mouth lifting. His eyes creased up at the edges, something Iwaizumi had never seen before, not in a single smile. With the weightless powder lifting from his skin, and the orange tint of the fire, his eyes looked alight. "You're an awful storyteller."

Iwaizumi had to take a moment before answering. "I've never told this before, alright? Cut me some slack here."

Oikawa rolled his eyes. "Fine. As long as you continue, and it doesn't suck shit."

"I was living with my granny, but I grew up in the village, and I hadn't been dyeing my white. It didn't show up until after the accident, with a few strands, but as soon as my granny saw, she immediately bought ink, and showed me how to keep my hair black. I didn't really know why. She just told me never to show it to anyone." Iwaizumi paused. "We were a pretty small community. I knew everyone, Riku who ran a small shop of basics, Hana who grew vegetables and travelled to the next town over, about two day's away, to sell off the excess. Yui harvested the _pokuls_ off of the trees surrounding the nearby lake and attempted to sell them as decorations, as charms to keep away the corrupt, or as offerings to throw in the lake for The Lady."

Oikawa made a scornful noise, but he waved away Iwaizumi's glower. "I'm not going to judge your choice of god, Iwa-chan. Not now, anyways. Keep going."

"I was about thirteen, I think. I was helping Yui reach the higher _pokuls_ on the edge of the woods when I slipped and fell, right into the lake. I was fine, but when I got out she noticed the ink running down my neck immediately. I didn't think it was a big issue, she just made fun of me for being an old man, then we gathered up our takings and left. But she must've mentioned it to her parents or something, because word spread, and they came to my home that night. I know she didn't mean any harm, but..”

Iwaizumi took a breath, closing his eyes. There were images rolling over and over, ones he didn't want to see, and being Breath made them worse, vivid and relentless. His breathing came out harder and harder, his hands beginning to shudder, clutching onto his knees. He felt a foreign warmth on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see Oikawa crouching next to him, his fingertips just skimming the edge of his form. 

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me any more," Oikawa said, and everything about him was gentle. The serious, but delicate tone of his voice, the slight curve upwards of his brows, the soft touch. 

Iwaizumi felt something beat to life inside him, gulping down all of his air and all of his thoughts. He locked eyes with Oikawa, who parted his lips, his golden shimmering Breath clouding the space in front of his face. Iwaizumi could barely see the firelight on his skin through the smoke, but it looked like his skin was sparkling. It slowly laid to rest on Iwaizumi's cheek, and Iwaizumi felt the panic draining from him, his fingers relaxing, his shoulders lowering from his ears. His heartbeat no longer felt like it was strangling his chest. 

Oikawa inhaled it back again, and, after a moment, withdrew his hand. He sat back. 

"How did you do that?" Iwaizumi asked, his voice emerging in a rasp. "Breathe, I mean. I'm not a physical person."

"I can relieve some emotional pain as well to a certain point," Oikawa spoke quickly, as if afraid of being overheard. "I couldn't Breathe into you as such, but I figured I'd try solidifying my Breath and touching you with it. I'm shocked it worked, really."

"So you… took it away?"

Oikawa gave him a half-grin, shaky at the edges. "No. I absorbed it."

Iwaizumi glanced down, and saw Oikawa's hands were clenched into fists, shaking in place. 

"Oikawa!"

"It's fine," Oikawa reassured him, although his breaths were uneven. "I know how to handle them. It's easier for me, because I don't have the feelings attached to the memories that you have. I'll be okay in a few minutes."

Iwaizumi reached out for his arm, but Oikawa backed away with a shake of his head. "Finish the story, Iwa-chan. I want to know."

"Alright." Iwaizumi surveyed him a bit longer, to which Oikawa gazed steadily back, his chest settling back gradually into a normal rhythm. 

"I wasn't there when they came for me. I used to sneak out at night and… well," Iwaizmi flushed. "I used to try and find some more _pokuls_ for Yui, so she could spend more time with her family. My granny told me that a few years back, a rogue magicker had come through here and chosen their house to stay in, and when they left, they took everything they could. Jewels, valuables, but even useless sentimental items, like her granny's ashes. I heard that they said they'd make a fine treat for their pet. But her family, her parents and older brothers, they rallied almost everyone in the village, reminding them of the incident, telling them that if I wasn't stopped, the white would corrupt me too and I'd be just like the one that robbed them and their spirit."

Iwaizumi took a breath. "I can't blame them, either. Nobody knew anything about magickers in my village. That was their only encounter with one, and suddenly my parents' death became suspicious too. They marched up to my granny's door and demanded she leave, so they could lock me in and save my soul before it was too late. She refused, so they boarded up the windows and doors, and tossed oil onto the roof, their torches afterwards."

He felt warmth on his shoulder again, and this time he was immersed in the memory, he knew Oikawa was there too, running by his side as he came back to see his home aflame and dying. 

"I came back too late. The fire had taken hold, the cottage had almost been completely burnt out. They had even gotten bored and left, thinking I'd be long dead by now. Because it was too late. I kicked in the back door and found her, but she was gone. I still dragged her outside, if only to have a body to bury. I don't know. I wasn't thinking clearly." 

"But they came back. They must've heard me sobbing, or heard the door break, or something. They tried to force me back into the burning cottage, to save me, so I could die with the Lady's grace and I wouldn't be corrupted. I think one of them even threw some sacred petals on me. I just cried and cried, and I hated them. I've never felt hatred like that ever before, and I don't think I ever will again, but I… I let my power take over me, and it killed them. You know when I woke up with phantom pains in my arm?"

Oikawa nodded, the memory held in his eyes. 

"I was covering. Sometimes it was phantom pain, but sometimes it was the feeling of their blood splattering on my back that wakes me up. I can't get back to sleep after those dreams."

Iwaizumi gulped down a breath. His chest felt tight, but lighter. He'd said it. He'd finally told someone. Even after the few people he was _kilra_ with, he'd never told. But Oikawa had seen it already. 

"And?"

"That's it," Iwaizumi finished. 

Oikawa's brow creased, and he leaned forwards. "Where did you go? Did you bury your granny? What about Yui?"

"I can't remember. The next few weeks after my granny's murder was - still is- a space. I think I buried her, but I definitely left by the time Yui and the rest who weren't there woke up."

"How many?"

"Were left?"

"How many did you kill?"

Iwaizumi dropped his head. "I don't know exact numbers. But at the least, twenty, twenty-five."

"At the most?" Oikawa pushed. 

"Maybe forty."

Oikawa was silent. He took his hand off of Iwaizumi's ghostly shoulder, and it became cold. 

“You know when I said I couldn’t heal my friend earlier?” 

“Yeah.”

“That was a lie. I could’ve healed him. I'm as talented as anyone can be, and will ever become. But he was on the brink of death, and to bring him back I would’ve died. I chose my life over his. I don’t regret it. People just die. That’s all there is to it.” 

His eyes drifted over to the sleeping lump of Yahaba. “Yahaba needs to learn that, or he’s going to die soon. I’ve had too many apprentices that died early because their heart was too good.” 

"Were you thinking of all the other people you could save in the future?" Iwaizumi asked. "Were you weighing up theirs against his?"

Oikawa stared blankly into the fire. "No." He exhaled, and his Breath combusted in a grey cloud from the heat. "I didn't want to die for him. I lied so people don't blame me. I don't think Mattsun could ever forgive me if he knew I let Watari die."

Iwaizumi didn't know what to say. 

"He can't blame you for wanting to live," was what he settled on. 

Turning his gaze to him, Oikawa flashed him a bitter smile, stiff at the edges. "Forgive me if I don't want to test that theory."

Iwaizumi nodded slowly, his eyes tracing down the curve of Oikawa’s cheek. The rise of tiny particles from his skin was mesmerising. He dragged his gaze back over to Oikawa’s eyes, which were somewhere beyond him, unfocused and beautiful. 

Oikawa blinked, and his focus snapped back to the now, meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes. He held contact for a moment, and Iwaizumi could hear his breath in his ears. 

Abruptly, Oikawa’s gaze darted away, dipping his face, fingers fiddling with his earlobe. 

"Anyways!" He got to his feet, brushing off the stray ash from the fire. "He won't find out, so it doesn't matter. You won't say a word, right? If you do, I may have to silence you, and that'd be a wholly unpleasant business." 

Oikawa smiled broadly, and Iwaizumi felt annoyance creeping back in. "Why do you feel the need to threaten me? You spewed all that shit about trusting each other earlier, of course I won't tell him. I didn't threaten you not to tell anyone that I killed most of a village, did I?"

"Ah, but nobody cares about that, Iwa-chan," Oikawa said, far too lightly, waggling a finger. "Someone still cares about what I just told you. And since Mattsun is the one who will be fixing you up, I'd keep your pretty mouth shut."

Standing up, Iwaizumi stepped closer to Oikawa, anger swelling in his chest. "I won't say a word, alright? There's no need for you to be such a dickhead."

Oikawa dropped his hand, narrowing his eyes at Iwaizumi briefly, a suspicious glint echoing in his gaze, as if measuring Iwaizumi's honesty. Eventually, after a few thudding, long heartbeats of Iwaizumi's stale heart, Oikawa smiled again, thin and stretched.

"I guess I'll trust you then," he said, resting a hand on his hip. "We really did get to know each other better, didn't we? We're such great partners."

Iwaizumi scowled, sitting back down. "I wish you'd stop fucking smiling so much."

"Noted," Oikawa replied, still smiling. “Thanks for the constructive criticism!” 

Inhaling deeply, Iwaizumi looked away, concentrating on the casting of the flames across the shadows of the forest. Anything but Oikawa's fake fucking smile, the way his unmoving eyes didn't crease at the sides, how his cheeks moved upwards mechanically. Calculated.

"People like you piss me off," Iwaizumi said. "You're not fooling anyone."

He heard Oikawa snort beside him. "Others would disagree with that. People don't see through false smiles nearly as much as you'd think."

"I still hate them."

There was a stretch of silence, only barely sketched in by the quiet crackling of the fire.

Then Oikawa spoke, in such a low murmur Iwaizumi wasn't sure he'd heard his voice over the silence at all. 

"Me too."

Oikawa walked to the other side of the firepit, and Iwaizumi took that to mean as a goodnight. He watched as Oikawa slipped under his sleeping blankets next to Yahaba, and he wondered why a man like Oikawa would even need a fake smile to get his own way. Why, when he was so cutting above the side of him that helped Iwaizumi survive in the cave, the part that accepted Yahaba as his apprentice, the part that felt guilty for his previous apprentice's death, that helped the dog, that pulled Iwaizumi's body from a raging fire. Who absorbed his panic and despair voluntarily. 

He couldn't blame Oikawa for wanting to protect the soft side of himself. Nobody was going to mess with Iwaizumi, with his big sword and natural glare. For Oikawa, he had to manufacture sharpness himself, hone his viciousness, create a weapon from his speech.

Iwaizumi thought that maybe, for the first time, he was figuring out how Oikawa the double-edged sword was forged. 

They woke at dawn. Iwaizumi still wasn't used to not sleeping, so he substituted in meditation and prayer, feeling no coldness from the creeping night. A few times, he believed that he heard creatures in the forest, voices he might've known in another life, sounds familiar to him but too remote to place. He was glad to see Oikawa sit up, his hands combing back his brown hair. The sooner they left this place, the better. The woods had stayed noisy throughout the night, and he prayed that the screams he heard were birds, not the faces trapped in the bark. 

Oikawa kicked earth over the firepit, just in case someone was tracking them. Iwaizumi wasn't sure who, because the stranger already claimed the baby and his life, but perhaps they weren't satisfied until Oikawa too was dead. They didn’t know, and not knowing scared them. Iwaizumi could tell, from the flickering of Oikawa’s eyes to the unnatural height of Yahaba’s shoulders. He didn’t blame them for being wary. Dying wasn’t fun, even if he hadn’t felt it. 

While heading towards the wood’s edge, Oikawa stopped, and turned to Iwaizumi. 

"Iwa-chan, look at that tree. The looped branch to the right."

Iwaizumi did, and he cursed. "I knew something wasn't right."

Alarmed, Yahaba hopped over to Oikawa and placed a hand on his arm, blinking at Iwaizumi. "What's up with the tree? Looped branches are common for this part of the country, right?"

Iwaizumi exhaled hard. "They are. But do you see the edges? They're a dark black. We couldn't see them last night in the darkness, but it's a telltale sign of a Seeing Forest."

"We were lucky we didn't decide to rest there last night," Oikawa mentioned, scanning the treeline. "I see more moss down the way. It's just a tinge, but definitely there."

Licking his lips, Yahaba glanced over the trees. "Iwaizumi-san, what's a Seeing Forest?"

"I'm right here," Oikawa said. "Ask me."

"But you'd mock me for not knowing already."

"I still am -"

"A Seeing Forest," Iwaizumi interrupted Oikawa, who scowled at him, but closed his mouth. "It's a forest where time gets all mixed up. In those looped branches, people can see their past, future, or even what they've constructed within their own minds. Some of them get so entranced by what they see that they climb through the branches."

"What happens to them then?"

"Nobody knows. Maybe they live in that moment forever."

"Or maybe they're ingested by the tree for food," Oikawa added. "And die painfully."

"Not helping. Oikawa, are you sure this is the only way to Mattsun's place?"

"I don't know any other way, if it exists. This was never a Seeing Forest before."

"Did we just get unlucky?" Yahaba wondered aloud, and Iwaizumi heaved a sigh of empty air.

"Looks like it. If we go in, there's no guarantee that we'll even emerge in the same time we went in."

"That's rare," Oikawa argued. "We should be fine if nobody goes through a branch circle." 

"Surely if we know, we won't?" Yahaba queried, and Oikawa snorted. "If that was all the trees did, they'd never catch anyone. There's likely a lure, or some sort of pollen that the moss on the branches spray to make people more suggestible, more likely to give in." 

"Are you sure there's no other way around?" Iwaizumi asked Oikawa, who scrunched up his nose in thought.

"I vaguely remember another route, but that brings us around the forest, and three days' out of our way. I don't think your body has that much time left, especially after the fire. You're looking shittier by the day."

"Thanks for reminding me about my decomposing body."

"Anytime, Iwa-chan." Oikawa flashed a quick, teasing smile at him, and Iwaizumi felt the odd tightness in his chest again. 

"Did someone mention decomposing bodies?"

A knowing smile crossed Oikawa's face, and they all turned to the new voice. The first thing Iwaizumi noticed was his hair. It sprung out from his head like wild, thick wires, curling up in any and all directions, hanging shaggy over his ears and dipping over his eyes, melding into his eyebrows. He held a large stick in his left hand, and he used it to point dramatically at Oikawa, twirling it in circles. Yahaba looked over to Oikawa, his eyes widened with alarm, but Oikawa simply placed a hand on his hip and waved back. 

"Mattsun. How unexpected, seeing you here," Oikawa said. 

Mattsun stepped out of the treeline with a sly grin, his half-lidded eyes darting over to Yahaba. "Who's the baby face?"

He was wearing robes that looked like they hadn't been washed in decades, mud caking the ends, and Iwaizumi was pretty sure his feet were bare underneath. He reminded Iwaizumi of the statues carved from wood put near forests that claim children to appease their little gods. It crossed his mind that perhaps Mattsun was one of the minor spirits, but surely Oikawa wouldn't be friends with one of those. 

Yahaba lifted his chin and stuck out his hand. "Yahaba Shigeru. A pleasure to meet you."

Mattsun's flat eyes skipped over his hand and past it, proceeding to slap Yahaba's palm and move on. Yahaba's eyebrows raised, and gaze shot to Oikawa, who shrugged and slapped Mattsun's raised hand. 

"It's just something he does. You'll get used to it."

"Nothing to get used to. It's completely normal in the cities, you’re just country bandits," Mattsun said. "What are you doing here, apart from interrupting my morning walk? Because your skin looks like shit, and I can confirm that’s because it is. I’ve never seen you this bashed up before. Who’d you piss off this time? An entire army?” 

"Just one person." Oikawa paused, eyebrows furrowing slowly. "I think."

"You think? What the fuck attacked you?"

"One oily person," Oikawa explained, and Mattsun raised his gifted eyebrows. 

"Okay."

"Oh! Can you tell me how close I am to dying thanks to Yahaba's terrible Breathing job?" Oikawa pulled up his shirt, showing Mattsun his scar, and Mattsun aimed a confused look at his torso. 

"Wow, that really does look like shit. Nice job, Yahaba. Keeping him on the verge of collapsing so he relies on you and can't abandon you. You're a smart kid." Mattsun reached out a hand and patted Yahaba's head, who began to half-heartedly protest, perhaps realising that it was utterly pointless. 

"I did the best I could!"

"Yeah, we believe you. The results speak for themselves, after all."

Matsukawa produced a small hexagon-faced sphere from his pocket and pressed it to Oikawa’s scar, who held back a flinch, judging by the grimace tightening his mouth. Mattsun's expression didn't change from his dead stare, but he nodded briefly as he tucked the instrument back away into his robes. 

“Your organs are, quite literally, barely stitched together,” Matsukawa informed him. “You’re going to have to find a Breather to smooth over all those cracks. Or you’ll twist the wrong way one day and bleed to death. Fairly quickly too, as your pancreas is ripe and ready to split open.” 

“Can’t you do anything?”

“I’d make it worse, undoubtedly. But I’m more than willing to try.” 

Oikawa gave him a flat look and dropped his shirt. “On second thoughts, maybe I’ll find someone else.” 

"Better find someone else quickly, or you might start bleeding internally and die in immense pain."

Oikawa cracked a smile that reached his eyes. "Sounds like a fun time. You know what's also fun? Bringing back a dead person."

Striding over to Iwaizumi's cloaked corpse, Oikawa kicked away the cloth, showing Mattsun the full glory of Iwaizumi's half-melted face.

"Good-looking guy. Even with all of the death and burns," Matsukawa commented, scratching his chin as he leaned over Iwaizumi. "What caused the fire?"

"Silly Mattsun. Technically, he didn't actually die in the fire, it was a spear through the heart. The fire happened afterwards."

"Wow, rough day."

"And his Breath is still here."

Matsukawa looked around. 

“Where is he then?”

“Only I can see him.”

Matsukawa absorbed the information with a serious nod. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed. I’ve been through some shit before, but nothing has caused me to go insane to the point of conjuring up a dead lover. What does he do? Float around and tell you how hot and intelligent you are?” 

Yahaba snorted, covering his grin with his sleeve a second later.

“Believe it or not, he exists, and he wasn’t my lover.”

Matsukawa frowned at him, and Iwaizumi saw pink tinge Oikawa's neck.

“I think I’ll choose not to believe it, if you don’t mind. There's no way you could be around someone that handsome and not-"

Oikawa stepped forwards and grabbed his hand. Matsukawa’s eyes fixed on Iwaizumi instantly. 

“Oh.. okay, that’s a whole new person that wasn’t there before. Well, that’s an interesting and thoroughly unexpected development. Oikawa telling the truth. And I guess seeing a ghost is pretty decent too.” 

“Hi,” said Iwaizumi. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, dead person. How’s limbo?” 

“Pretty chill actually.”

“Cool, Cool. Cool. That’s cool. So that’s your body over there?”

“The one that looks exactly like me, except burned? Yep.”

“Nice, nice. So you weren’t Oiks’... whatever ?”

“Most definitely not."

"Good. I don't have to pity you."

"Enough," Oikawa broke in. "Can you help us or not?"

"With what?"

“I need you to help me get him back into his body.” 

Matsukawa glanced down at Iwaizumi’s body.

“You know he’s dead, right? No offence.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. "None taken."

“Yes. Fix it.”

“He's dead. The opposite of alive.”

“But you can help, right?”

“Did you hear me? Dead. It’s not something you can fix. It tends to be a bit of a permanent condition. Some might even call it fatal.” 

“But it’s your speciality!”

Mattsun pinched the bridge of his nose, regarding Oikawa below his fingers. “My speciality is preserving bodies, not bringing them back to life. Do you even listen to anything I say? Like, even a little bit? Maybe even to do with my living? No?"

"I do listen!" Oikawa protested. "I listen to you ramble on about your stupid plants-"

"So you can't put me back into my body." Iwaizumi closed his eyes, and Oikawa fell silent. "Fuck."

He'd thought this could happen. He should've expected it more, prepared more mentally for the disappointment. He had trusted Oikawa's plan, simply because he wanted to. Fool. He was going to have to drift around in this form forever, never sleeping, never dying, never touching anything or anyone ever again, nobody could even see him. He wondered if Oikawa could kill Breaths with his solid Breath. There was no way he was staying like this forever, invisible and useless. 

He felt a hand hover over his arm, and the touch was familiar from the night before.

"I'm sorry." Oikawa's voice was low, but sincere.

Taking a deep breath, Iwaizumi spoke. "It's not your fault."

"I'm apologising because I gave you hope."

Iwaizumi opened his eyes, and saw Mattsun examining him.

"How badly do you want your body back, warrior?"

"So you can do something!"

Mattsun shook his head. "Not me. But the forest might help you, if you give it something in return. There's a reason I can pass through without becoming trapped in one of those time puddles."

"Time...puddles?"

"They're small little pockets of time that loop over and over, stolen from your own head. They like to feed on the memories of humans, as a treat. They can survive without doing it, but by the gods, they are greedy fuckers. Ever talk to a time bending moss plant? They’re absolute bastards. I’m just lucky that I’m equally as bastard, enabling me to strike a bastard-to-bastard deal. Perhaps you can too.” 

“Are you calling me a bastard?”

“I barely know you. Take me on a nice forest walk first and then maybe I’ll call you a bastard.” 

“Can you help Iwaizumi-san or not?” Yahaba interrupted. 

“I can show him to somewhere where he can maybe get help,” Matsukawa answered. 

“I’m in,” Iwaizumi said. 

“Hang on,” Oikawa said. “You don’t even know what Mattsun’s plan is. And seeing as I’m also gonna have to go into that forest so Matsukawa can see and talk to you, I want to know. I’m not risking my well-being for some vague half-promise.” 

“I don’t care. Anything is better than being stuck like this. We’re wasting time here when we should be going after the heir.” He turned to Matsukawa. “What do I need to do?” 

“The basic is that these time pools have loops of scenes from your past, right? So you have your body in those. Enter one, get into your body, and escape. Easy. Except not.” 

“Won’t that change time?”

“You think moss has the ability to change our entire timeline? You know it has like, two cells in its entire structure, right?” 

“When you put it like that…”

“Don’t worry. They can borrow pieces of your memory and reconstruct it within subspace, but it can’t affect outside that space. The loop in there will be utterly fucked, but who cares about their food?” 

“They might,” Oikawa said. He glanced over to Iwaizumi. “Be careful. Nature spirits can be… trickstery.” 

"If anything goes less than smoothly, mention my name," Matsukawa interjected. "I should have a deal with every deity in the woods, minor and major. They might remember that we do, or they might not, they're a bit time-warpy. You ready to go?"

Iwaizumi nodded. “I’m feeling lucky.” 

"Oikawa?"

Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest, and for a second Iwaizumi thought he was going to refuse to go in with them. Then he heaved a sigh, one that seemed to catch the edges of Iwaizumi's form and blow them away. 

"Alright. Yahaba, you stay here and guard Iwaizumi's body. Hopefully we won't need it and we can let it rot. He's beginning to smell."

Matsukawa touched Oikawa's shoulder again, looking at Iwaizumi. "Did you really want to be put back into a half-decomposing body that stinks? I hate to admit it, but Oikawa's right and you really do smell."

"I didn't exactly have another choice. Can we just go?"

"Whatever you say, dead guy."

There was something oppressive about the turned, warped branches, filtering across the woodland floor. Iwaizumi half-expected to see one of them reach up and clutch onto Oikawa's ankles, tripping him over and then melting him through the moss-infested soil. Matsukawa and Oikawa walked in front of him, head bent towards each other, discussing in low voices. Iwaizumi tried to focus, search for any birdsong, but he heard nothing, only the slow creep of whispers from the cracks in the thick bark, ones that seemed to gather as time went on, feeling thicker and thicker on his half-there skin. He wondered if they were the voices of people who had stepped through the branches, or maybe they were the leftovers of consumed memories. Whatever the case, he wasn't anxious to find out. 

Within a few minutes Oikawa and Matsukawa fell silent. Catching up to Oikawa and asking him to touch Matsukawa, Iwaizumi attempted small talk.

“What’s your ability then?”

Mastukawa idly threw up a stick, spinning it over before catching it. “I can keep bodies in suspended animation, and look underneath their skin if needed. That’s my magic, but all this stuff with the nature spirits and plants is learned. They go quite well together, if I say so myself.” 

Iwaizumi examined Matsukawa, trying to locate his white, judge how powerful he was, but all of those robes covered the vast majority of his skin, leaving little for Iwaizumi to examine. 

Matsukawa looked over at him, and Iwaizumi quickly switched to the trees overhead. 

“As attractive as you are, I’m taken.” 

“I wasn’t-” Iwaizumi started.

“No judgement here." Matsukawa winked at him, and Oikawa faked vomiting. "It's flattering, really, to see that I still have it."

“I was trying to see where your white is,” Iwaizumi explained, and Mattsun’s eyebrows lifted. 

“Sure. I believe you.” He tapped his arm. “My white is my bones.” 

Iwaizumi frowned. “That sounds unlikely. How would you know?” 

“Were you always this rude? I’m surprised that Oikawa didn’t kill you before whoever did."

"I ask myself that every day," Oikawa murmured, and Matsukawa kept going. 

"What if I started quizzing you on your white? If you even have it.” 

“It’s a patch of my hair. I dye it."

“Oh. Well. In that case, it’s my feet. The soles. So that makes life easier for me, but if you start collecting animal bodies that never seem to decompose, it tends to attract a bit of unpleasant attention. For some reason it creeps people out."

"Yeah. No idea why."

"I knew you were a similar-minded guy to me."

"How do you know Oikawa anyways?"

"We grew up together in an orphanage in the south of the kingdom. Like, bordering bandit land. Lots of kids with no parents, lots of depression."

Iwaizumi glanced across at Oikawa, whose lips were tight. "Your parents were killed too?"

"Not exactly," Oikawa said, then put on a smile. "Not a bad guess, though! What gave it away? Was it the detail about the orphanage? And to think, I underestimated your intelligence."

Iwaizumi wished he could smack him. "Sorry if I don't measure up to your genius standards set. By the man who burned himself pulling a dead man from a fire."

"You're right," Oikawa retorted back, folding his sleeves over his hands, not quite blistered but red, a few small blisters growing on the edges of his fingers. "Next time I'll let your corpse burn. It won't be a loss."

Matsukawa frowned at them. "I've some balm for burns. Why didn't you say anything? You know what, that's a stupid question. You're you. Once all of this shit is over with and Iwaizumi here is comfy back in his non-burned body, we'll head back to my place and I'll sort you out. Makki's probably wondering where I am, and he might even be glad to see you."

"He better be," Oikawa affirmed, and the leaves overhead began to close in. 

The forest moved with Iwaizumi's every step, as if shifting to appease him, faces of the known and friendly unknown circling the trunks, chanting louder the deeper they went in. It sounded as if he was in a bowl with hundreds of clambering people outside, the walls growing thinner by the trok. 

“Block them out,” Matsukawa said, confirming Iwaizumi's suspicions that they weren't just in his head. “They’re just lures, if you listen you’ll be drawn in. Here, chew on this.”

After a few troks of rifling in his deep pockets, he held out a small leaf, autumn brown in colour and curved at the sides. 

“Uhh, I’m not sure if I can eat that,” Iwaizumi said, and Matsukawa refocused. 

“Oh, yeah. Shit. I guess that makes it harder on you.” Matsukawa threw it over to Oikawa, who popped it into his mouth. 

“If it makes you feel any better, it tastes like dirt," Oikawa told him, his nose creasing up. 

The voices were beginning to carry Iwaizumi’s Breath form, as if strung along a soundwave. 

“Not really.” 

After a while, the branches began to creep out of the corner of Iwaizumi’s eye, the grass tugging on the edge of his form a little more, drawing him down. The drag of the voices continued, and Iwaizumi found it harder to move, greens and browns blurring together wherever he looked. 

“How much further?”

“Until they begin to access your memories. It should be you they target, since Oiks has protection now. Do you feel confused yet?”

“I think so.” 

“Are you confused about being confused? That sounds like enough confused to me. You want your recent body, right? So sometime not too far back, but not sometime too close, because those memories are stronger and harder to break out from. Tell me when you feel like passing out and I’ll guide you to where you need to go.” 

“How will you know?”

“I’ll just look at the memories and see when you’re not on fire.” 

Iwaizumi felt stupid. “Alright. How do I get out?"

Matsukawa shrugged. "I dunno. I've never gone in."

"You really are entirely useless, aren't you?" Oikawa observed. 

"Then how did you know the stuff about strong memories and all that?"Iwaizumi asked, and it was difficult to collect his thoughts into sentences with the clammering stuffing up his skull, vibrating in his bones. 

"The moss said some creepy shit about stronger memories being tastier and fresher. I try not to listen, but unfortunately I can't control my memories."

Iwaizumi swallowed hard. He was on his own. 

Suddenly, Matsukawa stopped and pointed downwards, straight ahead. "See that one there? Does that look about right?"

Iwaizumi saw the foggy image of the castle's corridors, and nodded. Before he was injured in the raid, before he was killed. His head swam, but he drifted forwards, finding himself already being dragged in by the ever casading tones of incessant voices. 

Iwaizumi stepped through, and his stomach shot up through his chest. His nerves dissolved in his blood and his head expanded out of his skull. Within a beat of his imaginary heart, he was reconstructed, body around Breath, fragments of flesh hovering at the corners of his eyes. He felt like silver, malleable and cheap, melted down for better things. Blinking, he saw a wall of dark green moss speeding towards him, and he held up his hands as he collided with it, damp moss engrossing his whole body. 

Iwaizumi pitched forwards onto hard stone floor, and smashed his elbow off of the wall. It was lucky he’d fallen on his side, because he had a screaming baby tucked underneath his other arm. Clambering to his feet quickly, he knew where he was. He checked his chest - no wound, yet. Where had he gotten it from? Everything had been such a blur, he wasn’t even sure when he’d become aware of the bleeding during the raid. 

He picked up his sword from where it’d fallen, swallowing heavily. He wasn’t sure if both his Breath and body died if he died in here, or if he’d just be ejected from the loop, but he sure as fuck didn’t want to find out. He heard shouts tumbling down the corridor behind him, probably drawn by the ever-noisy baby, and took off in the other direction. 

Iwaizumi felt like he’d been away from the castle for years. As he ran, his feet automatically brought him around corners, selecting the right raised stones, but it all seemed so far away from the present. He knew he should let go of the heir, doom him in only this small pool of time, but he clutched onto him, pelting down side corridors, staying out of the main pathways. How was he going to get out? 

Rounding a corner, he crashed into some men, and it took him a moment to realise that they were the king's men, likely on their way to die. He recognised the leader of the squad of about six through his eyes, remarkably crow-footed for his age, something Iwaizumi always used to tease him about. He'd forgotten he'd run into his former apprentice. 

"Iwaizumi-san! Let him pass, let him pass!" he shouted back to his men, who parted to allow him through in the narrow hallway. 

Iwaizumi grabbed him by the shoulder, looking into startled, scared eyes. "Run. It doesn't matter about the kingdom, and the king's already been assassinated. His wife's fled. There's nothing left here but your own life."

The boy faded underneath his hands, as well as the rest of his men, and reappeared behind Iwaizumi, clattering down the hall. Iwaizumi retracted his hand. His memory was of pushing past them wordlessly, somehow assuming he'd see them again. It didn't matter what he should've said. He couldn't alter his memory or the past. 

Iwaizumi began running again. 

He deliberately took different routes than that night, remembering all the crooks of the castle but he hadn't known where the enemy soldiers were, reasoning that if he didn't recall them, they probably weren't going to show up in his memory. At least, he hoped so. 

Until he reached the entrance to the central hall. He loitered outside the wooden doors, his arm cramping from holding the child, his chest numbing from the sprinting. It felt good to feel the sharp pain within his ribcage with every breath, after being barely more than nothing for days. He stood up straight, passing Tobio to lean mostly on his right arm, hoping he wouldn't have to use his holstered sword. Staring up at the massive double doors, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Maybe he should try and find an exit within the castle, instead of trying to escape the confines of his own recollections. He had no idea how vast this memory spanned - did it go back days? Weeks? Or only hours, and he was at risk of being looped around again?

Iwaizumi shook his doubt away. He couldn't figure out what he didn't know. His fingers tightened around the grooved hilt, and he put his shoulder to one of the doors, giving a low grunt as it slowly cracked open, swinging in on hinges the length of his hand. Hearing the scattered clunks of heavy footsteps, he steeled himself, pushing the door wide open with one final thrust of his legs. 

Iwaizumi came down on the closest man without hesitation, jutting his sword through the space of his helmet and armour top, digging deep into the vulnerable neck. He had hardly time to survey his surroundings, with more men, previously strewn throughout the hall, came racing down, the harsh sounds of swords drawing from their homes filling the air. It tasted like battle, blood and steel. Iwaizumi blocked the strike of one blade, deflecting another, running the edge of his sword along the length as he sprinted in, bashing his shoulder into his collarbones. The heir tilted dangerously against his chest, and Iwaizumi cursed, repositioning the child as his foot stamped down on the hand reaching for a fallen sword. Bones crunched, and a new scream rose with the heir's, piercing through the roof. 

Turning, Iwaizumi just caught the tip of a sword on his hilt, forcing it to slide off to the side. Before the attacker could regain his balance, pull back his blade, Iwaizumi swung, clattering off of his armour, sliding up into his armpit. Blood gushed from the wound down his torso, and another sword was abandoned. Now the soldiers' eyes had wariness in them, their movements unsure, and Iwaizumi gulped down a breath, gaze sweeping the room. Any advantage he had of surprise was well and truly gone. 

He remembered…. five men? He was fairly certain by this time his white had overtaken him, and that was how he survived, but he couldn't remember it, and even as he looked at them, the soldiers were unfocused, as if he couldn't quite recall the colour of their undergarments, the pattern on their gleaming white armour. Suddenly, one spurred into existence next to him, slashing downwards, and Iwaizumi barely managed to dodge, stumbling backwards a step before lunging forwards again, causing him to back off. 

Was that his memory trying to reconstruct what scraps it could find? 

Three remained, and they spanned out in front of Iwaizumi, their movements encased in a light fog. Iwaizumi tried to focus, tried to recall how this encounter panned out, but all he could remember was his boots slipping in blood against the tiled floor as he fought, and the shock of a blade's edge cleaving through his chest plate. Then they attacked, and he had no more time to remember. 

Three at once almost overwhelmed him, barely deflecting one attack before having to sidestep another, his feet losing grip on the floor. The heir made it impossible to roll, and he found himself backing away more and more, until his back was almost at the double doors he entered through. Iwaizumi attempted to break out the side, but one stopped him with a wide swing, forcing him to retreat back. 

Iwaizumi could only defend, but it was as if he was defending for two, the hapless baby in his hand making him even more vulnerable. His mind darted - his white, he needed his white.

He began breathing deeper, concentrating on what Oikawa had told him, fluid motion, as if the air itself was part of his breath. A wind prickled on his skin, and he felt a warmth grow behind his eyes, within his bones, as if acid was eating them inside out. Ducking, the edge of a sword nicked the top of his shoulder, but he refused to allow it to break his focus. Inhale. Exhale. Harness and release. 

The cut edges of his shirt began fluttering. 

And in one swift shove, the soldiers were hurtled backwards, one flung along the length of the hall to crack against a stone column and crumple to the floor, the others thudding hard against the other end to slump lifeless, a streak of blood left on the carved wooden panels. 

Iwaizumi almost collapsed to his knees, a wave of weakness overtaking his limbs. The heir's crying stopped, his eyes alert as he gazed at Iwaizumi, as if his power had amazed even the baby. Propping himself up on his sword, Iwaizumi gasped, trying to regain the burst of strength he'd lost. After a few heaving breaths, he stood up straight and made his way to the other end of the hall, murmuring soothing things to the child in his arms. 

He branched off to the right door, surrounded by tiny, spiralled marble, and hauled it open. Iwaizumi slung his gaze ahead of him and instantly halted. The walls were being consumed by white patches of light, as if caterpillars were eating into the stone with tiny mouthfuls. Iwaizumi backed up, retreating back into the hall and slamming the door behind him. 

It took him a trok. Matsukawa's word drifted back to him.

_They like to eat people's memories, as a treat._

His memory was being eaten. Would he be eaten as well? Iwaizumi didn't want to find out. 

Suddenly, as he moved forwards, a pain shot across his chest, and he choked out a breath, tears boiling at the edges of his eyes. 

He touched the hem of his shirt, and his fingers came away soaked in crimson. His head spun. How did this happen? He wasn't struck… but that wasn't how his memory called it. By this time, he was injured and bleeding, and although he was surrounded in his white and he could hardly recall the latter parts of the fighting, being wounded had shocked him. Iwaizumi's shirt wasn't even cut, and neither was his leather armour, but he knew he had a cut across his chest. And this time Oikawa wasn't here to heal him. His stained fist clenched, knowing his timer for finding an escape had just been chopped shorter than ever. 

He forged on, trying to ignore the weariness in his limbs, the sharp aching of his torso, trying to comfort the shrieking heir with bloody fingers. Maybe he could find another exit?

In the corner, a figure flickered into existence, bending over the bodies, humming a song that made the columns shiver. It could've come from the white splotches slowly spreading over the rafters, but Iwaizumi couldn't tell. His blinks were growing slower, his focus waning. 

"Who are you?" Iwaizumi challenged, reaching for his sword. "I don't remember you."

"Well, you don't remember this event going like this either, do you? It's sort of spoiling my appetite, if I'm being honest here." It stepped over the bodies, approaching him fluidly, and as it got closer Iwaizumi could see the humanoid form was mottled with bits of greenery, like leaves trampled into the mud were pasted across their skin, growing over it. 

"You’re not supposed to be here and you’re kind of fucking up my dinner. Just stop making such a ruckus and let us digest you. Your Breath being here isn't even a big issue, stop squirming and fighting and lie down. It won't hurt for long."

Iwaizumi shook his head. “I have to get out. How do I get out?"

“Mm, but you’re more food for us. Forgive me if I don’t escort you to the exit.”

“I know Mattsun, he said you guys have a deal -“

“A deal? As in, he’d burn down this entire forest if we ate him or his friends? That’s what he calls a deal?” 

“I’m a friend of his, it holds,” Iwaizumi said desperately. “Please.” 

He swayed back and forth, grabbing onto a nearby column for support. 

"I need my body."

"Then give me something in return. I don't care if you're friends with that bastard, I want a feast." The deity grinned, the edges of it almost reaching the side of their bulbous cheeks. "Give me replacement food. A strong memory, full of good emotion. I don't want any bad shit that'll make me sick. I want the moment you first fell in love, the scent of your granny's cookies, your childhood friend's laugh, your mother’s proud smile, the satisfaction from your first kill. Give one to me, and you can have your body back."

Words blocked up Iwaizumi's throat. He didn't want to give anything away. Who was he harming, by taking his own body back? But he knew no other way out of it, and if time reset while he was still in here, would his own memories of the time spent past this be wiped? Would he be stuck here, reliving the same event endlessly, not knowing that he had to get out? He lifted his palm from his torso, and saw the blood draining through his shirt, sticking to his fingers, his head growing light and dizzy. 

"Fine," Iwaizumi relented, bowing his head. "Take one."

"I think I will, if you don't mind. Just let me shuffle them about a bit, yes? It'll hurt."

A pounding slammed within Iwaizumi's skull, and it took him a few jarring heartbeats to realise that he was screaming. It was like someone had jammed their fist into his head and was rattling it around as much as possible, punching the sides relentlessly. He bit down sharply on his tongue, stifling his scream. 

Suddenly, the pressure inside his head released, and he was left with vague throbbing. 

"This one is fresh, new. Perfect," they said approvingly, and Iwaizumi blinked away the lights, lifting his head to see the price, perhaps for the last time in his life. 

He hoped it wasn't his granny. Anyone but her. Maybe Yui, his first childhood love? Or the one who came after, who taught him how to be _kilra_ with another? Maybe Daichi, playing _wari_ and drinking beer in their favourite tavern? 

"That?"

Iwaizumi's forehead creased up. In between the deity's thin fingers was a sharp image of Oikawa, his face bathed in firelight and his eyes bright, curled upwards in what Iwaizumi knew was a true smile. The first time he'd seen Oikawa smile without guards or hidden motivations. He was smiling because he was happy, nothing more. 

"Yes," the deity said. "Are you surprised?"

"I…" Iwaizumi could barely speak, the pain in his chest numbing, his temples still in piercing agony. "Why?"

"If you don't even know why it's important to you, you won't even miss it," the deity waved away his question. "I think you have to go now if you want to arrive back not dead."

"How…."

The deity sighed. "Usually I'd direct you to the nearest safe exit, but in this case…" They reached up to their mouth with their free hand, and in one movement, clamped their teeth around their fingernail and yanked it off of their forefinger. 

"Here." They held it out, and Iwaizumi, almost stumbling down, took it. "Eat it, and you'll be back to wherever you came in."

Iwaizumi had no time or consciousness left for processing how gross this all was. He flung the fingernail into his mouth and chewed as hard as he could. It tasted like biting down on the pollen sac of a flower, dusty and crunchy, and soon everything faded out. 

He staggered backwards, and his ankles caught on a branch, and he landed hard on his back, twigs jutting into his spine. 

“Iwaizumi - Oh, that doesn’t look good.”

He felt two arms rope underneath his armpits and drag him. For how long, he didn’t know. He kept drifting in and out of consciousness, only waking when a hand pressed sharp herbs to his cut. 

He heard cursing, then hasty footsteps on grass. 

"Iwa-chan!" 

Iwaizumi could only groan back as he was laid back on the grass, and through fuzzy vision he saw three heads bobbing over him, and then strong fingers were seizing his jaw, opening his mouth. 

" _Adiuventi_ ," Oikawa whispered, and Iwaizumi felt his Breath pouring through him, stitching up his skin, unbreaking his bones, healing his flesh. 

He was screaming, he was sure of it, but he couldn't hear. His mind had reached its limit, and blackness overtook him. 

He woke, and tasted dried blood on his tongue. His mouth was so dry, it felt like he had been half-digested, with all the water sucked out of him. 

But he was breathing, alive, and he had a body. 

Sitting up with a grunt, Iwaizumi slipped a hand underneath his shirt and ran it down over his torso, which was coated in flaky blood, but sewed back together smoothly, without even a scar to mark the wound. Oikawa had done a good job, as usual. All of his bragging and confidence did have grounds somewhere. Thankfully, he was wearing what he had been in the memory - light leather armour on his chest, arms and thighs, with a cloth shirt and heavy woolen pants underneath. 

"You've woken up. Nice. I didn't want to have to drag you any further, you've heavier than you look."

Matsukawa raised his head nearby, crouched over a crude fire. Yahaba hopped to his feet, racing over to Iwaizumi with a bright smile. He parked himself next to him and offered him his hand. 

"It's nice to be able to see you again, Iwaizumi-san. Welcome back."

Iwaizumi took his hand - they were on the outskirts of the woods again, with the trees blanketed by a thick fog, soft greyness crowded by the near blackness of the night. Iwaizumi fixated on the moss at the base of the trees and shivered, recalling the face of the deity. 

"They're not happy," Matsukawa informed him. "I bet whoever let you out is getting a lot of shit right now."

Iwaizumi inhaled deeply, feeling the unnatural stretch of his stomach muscles. Maybe Oikawa hadn't done as good a job as he'd thought. Speaking of...

He looked around, and to his right, Oikawa was lying on the grass on his side, unconscious. Iwaizumi's heart stuttered. 

"Is he-"

"He's fine," Mattsun dismissed him. "He just passed out, that's all. It takes a whole two trels without Breath for brain damage to set in. He was only out for one and a half. He'll wake up in a trok and still be as stupid as ever, even without the brain damage. In fact, I think brain damage might even make him smarter."

Iwaizumi wasn't listening. He gently laid a palm on Oikawa's shoulder, shaking lightly. 

“Oikawa?”

No response. 

Iwaizumi shook a bit harder, then lowered his ear to Oikawa’s mouth, listening. To his relief, he heard a low whistle of breathing. 

He cared, although it didn't feel right to touch him, so he withdrew his hand. 

"He'll wake up on his own, right?"

"Yep. Apart from the barely-working liver, he's fine, trust me.” Matsukawa stopped. “Unless….”

Scrambling over to him, Matsukawa took out the oddly-shaped ball he had earlier, gently rolling Oikawa onto his back and pulling up his shirt. He pressed it to Oikawa’s scar, and stilled. 

“What? Is he okay?”

Matsukawa held up a finger. “I’d be able to tell if you didn’t interrupt me.” 

Iwaizumi pressed his lips together, resisting the pounding headache to move closer to Oikawa. After a short while, Matsukawa exhaled. 

“Yahaba?”

“Yes?”

“You did a terrible job. A truly awful one. I can’t express to you just how much of a bad job you did stitching up his organs. A ferqol with a needle and thread would’ve done better. He has to be in constant pain with every breath he takes.”

Yahaba’s hands twisted around each other. “I know. But he’s not dying, is he?”

“He’s okay. Barely. “

Matsukawa removed the ball, looking at Iwaizumi. “I was afraid that healing you had exerted him so much that he’d ripped through the horrendous work Yahaba did. It’s weakened, for sure, but not gone yet.” 

Both of them breathed a sigh of relief. 

"He won't wake up for a while," Mattsun predicted, cutting his gaze over to Iwaizumi. "Want to give your body a test run? We don't want to be out here when it's dark, even out of the forest. And my dear Makki's gonna be slightly concerned about my whereabouts if I don't return soon."

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to tell Matsukawa that his first priority was finding the heir, not taking care of Oikawa, that he'd give them the donkey and he'd head back towards the kingdom. 

What came out was "We have a donkey. There's no way I'm carrying Oikawa through the forest by myself."

Mattsun shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just thought I'd give you a chance to show off, but if you want to turn it down, that's your problem."

They hoisted an unconscious Oikawa onto the donkey's back, and then mutely turned to Iwaizumi's old body.

"Do you want to bury it?" Yahaba asked, and Iwaizumi shook his head.

"That's too much like I'm dead. I'm here, aren't I?"

"But we're not just going to leave it there, are we? Animals might eat it…"

Matsukawa wrinkled up his nose. "Trust me, even animals won't eat a body that far gone. I say we burn it and move on with our lives. It's getting darker."

Iwaizumi shrugged away Yahaba's open mouth. "Sounds fine to me."

"Iwaizumi-san! We can't just leave you there - well, not you, but your body, it was you after all," Yahaba protested, and Iwaizumi sighed. 

"We'll bury it on the way back tomorrow, alright?"

Yahaba nodded, satisfied, and they set off through the forest. 

Along the way, Iwaizumi filled Mattsun in on his experience. Mattsun listened almost silently, giving a few wise nods here and there, and Iwaizumi could tell he was storing everything away for future use. 

“And the price?” Matsukawa asked, once Iwaizumi was at the end. 

“I gave up a memory for them to eat. I’m… not sure what it was. I suppose that’s a blessing that I can’t remember.” 

“Any memory at all?”

“No, they chose one. They said they wanted one full of strong feelings, but good feelings. So I’m one good memory down.” 

“Feel any different? Are you overwhelmed with a sense of despair and or foreboding?” 

Iwaizumi thought for a moment. The leaves crackled around him, but Matsukawa's presence seemed to keep them from closing in. “I don’t think so.” 

"Probably wasn't important then."

"Let's hope so."

About halfway through the forest, they heard an indignant "Hey!" from behind them, and turned around to see Oikawa struggling. 

"Mind lending a hand to get me the fuck off of this beast?" Oikawa asked. "Which I was put on without my permission, may I add?"

His eyes landed on Iwaizumi and widened. "You actually made it. I thought I might've been too late, like the time when you.. you know."

Yahaba got to work unfastening the ropes securing him to the donkey, and Iwaizumi nodded. 

“I have a body, thanks to you.”

As soon as his feet hit the soil, Oikawa flung himself forwards, and hugged Iwaizumi, hard. Iwaizumi felt Oikawa flinch at the impact and he frowned, folding his arms across Oikawa's surprisingly broad back. Iwaizumi got a whiff of something, some scent that reminded him of golden pollen as he held him. 

“You overexerted yourself.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Oikawa shot back, untangling himself from Iwaizumi and placing a hand on his hip. Iwaizumi found himself searching for the tiny metallic particles rising from his clothes, but they were gone. 

“Hardly,” Matsukawa interjected. “Fun fact of the day: if you attempt another big Breathing like that, your organs will burst apart and your inner cavities will fill up with blood.” 

"That's really fun, thanks, Mattsun," Oikawa replied, lifting an eyebrow. "I'll be fine. Organs heal themselves, anyways. It's what they did before us Breathers came along."

"Can you walk?" Iwaizumi inquired, scanning Oikawa's pose. 

Oikawa waved his concern away. "I'm fine, Iwa-chan. You think you were the most difficult case I've gotten through? Don't flatter yourself. But I'm starving, so Mattsun, I hope you have some good forest food at yours."

"Like berries and shit? Don't get too excited."

"Like a freshly slaughtered ferqol."

"My condolences. I've disappointed you."

"Go burn in hell, Mattsun."

After a little while more, they emerged from the forest. Iwaizumi upturned his face to the night sky. It felt good to feel more than stale, leaf-digested air against his skin. In fact, it still felt good to feel anything. He swore he'd never take his body for granted again, and especially not the use of his two arms. He promised himself that he'd pray to The Lady later to thank her for a healthy body. Returning his gaze to earth, he saw a flat cave wall, and squinted, trying to find a door. 

"Here?"

"Yes, here. Welcome to my amazing house," Matsukawa announced, striding in through a thin slit in the cave wall, almost having to rotate sideways to get through. "I've no idea how you're going to get those broad shoulders of yours through here, Iwaizumi, but that's your problem, not mine."

He vanished, the cloth hanging down over the entrance wavering to a stop after him. 

Iwaizumi gave Oikawa a dubious look, to which Oikawa winked. "Wait and see."

He ducked in through the curtain, and Iwaizumi followed, indeed forced to angle himself uncomfortably to slip through. 

What struck him first was the sheer amount of light, pebbled across the walls, having expected darkness. The second was the expansive size - it seemed impossible that such a small doorway could lead to such a broad area. Even with the shelves leaning against every wall and the clutter clustered at the ends of various tables spread around the circular room, Iwaizumi felt like he'd entered a forest clearing, more open that he'd felt in the wood itself, with its oppressive overhead branches. In comparison, Matsukawa's place was airy, and Iwaizumi could see stars emerging from the hole in the raised roof, at least twice Iwaizumi's height. Iwaizumi spotted other curtains at the sides of the room, likely covering even more rooms cut into the caves. 

A man was playing with a small winged insect, his feet propped up high on the furthermost table. The only immediate striking thing about him was that he was stark naked. His skin looked like he'd been dipped in milk, his hair the colour of the sky just before sunrise. 

"Makki!" Oikawa exclaimed, and Makki looked lazily over at them. 

"Oh, Oikawa. Good to see you. Issei, you didn't mention visitors."

"It's not a visitation, it's an invasion," Matsukawa deadpanned. 

Makki stood, delicately venturing through the room to offer Iwaizumi his hand. "Hanamaki Takahiro. Pleasure to meet you."

"Um, good to meet you too," Iwaizumi said slowly. "Do you… have clothes?"

"Why? Something wrong with my dick?"

"No, but -"

"There's children around!" Oikawa cut in, gesturing over to Yahaba, who was loitering by the door, gaze stuck on the ceiling. 

Makki popped his head out to see around Oikawa. "Oh, sorry. I didn't see you there, kid. What's your name?"

"Yahaba. I mean, Yahaba Shigeru."

"Shigeru…" Makki mused. "I swear I've heard that name before. Because it sort of sounds like shiggy, you know? And that's a funny word."

"........Thanks?"

"Don't mention it. You mentioned clothes?" He glanced over to Iwaizumi, then Matsukawa. "Do I've any clothes?"

Matsukawa waved a hand. "Maybe. Why are you asking me? I don't wear them."

Hanamaki rolled his eyes. "Fine. Look, will this do?"

He grew long, thick fur the colour of his hair from the waist to his mid-thigh, and Iwaizumi did not know how to react. 

Yahaba's eyes grew wide. "You're a shapeshifter! A self-shaper! I've never met one who could shift themselves before!"

Makki gave him a dull look. "What gave it away?"

"He could just be a furry," Oikawa pointed out. 

Hanamaki slowly reached out and cupped Oikawa's chin in his hand, fingers squishing up his cheeks. "You do realise that when you think of something to say, you can just not say it?"

"Yesh," Oikawa said through his squashed cheeks. 

While this was happening, Matsukawa was rifling through his stuff at the base of the table. He stuck up his hand, holding a small jar.

“Takahiro, release the idiot. Here. Balm for your stupid pointless burns.” 

Hanamaki let go of Oikawa's face. 

"Thanks," Oikawa said, taking it. "Do you have a balm for your stupid pointless life?"

"That's not a great comeback, even for you," Matsukawa criticised. "Six out of ten. My feelings aren't nearly as hurt as they should be. Yahaba, don't tell me you actually accept this garbage insulting from him?"

"They don't hurt anymore," Yahaba said. "He's good at being mean, but not great."

"I'll happily be meaner to you, Yahaba-kun," Oikawa answered with a gleam in his eyes, untying the rope around the jar top. "You'll thank me for your tough skin later."

Yahaba threw a despairing look over to Iwaizumi, who couldn't help but chuckle. "Stop bullying the kid, Oikawa. He's tough enough."

"I disagree," Oikawa retorted back. "You're just too soft on him."

"Kid, over here." Makki beckoned from across the room at Yahaba. "Want to find out if you can shift yourself? It takes a different kind of concentration. I'll teach you the secret."

Yahaba, torn between gaining extra knowledge and spending time with the naked man, looked over at Oikawa, who gave a nod. 

"Why do I feel uneasy letting him train Yahaba?" Iwaizumi pondered aloud, and Oikawa shrugged. 

"He'll be fine. He's been through my training, after all. Makki's can't be more brutal."

"Heh." Iwaizumi cracked a smile. "That's true."

Oikawa looked down, rubbing balm over his burns. After a few beats of silence, he approached Iwaizumi closer, his gaze not quite steady. 

"Hey. Do you feel okay after the time-travel tree thing?"

Oikawa touched his elbow, and Iwaizumi frowned, moving it away. "Yeah, I guess. Why?"

A flash of confusion showed on Oikawa's face, but he quickly hid it with a wide, blank smile. "Nothing. No reason for you to worry your single brain cell about."

Oikawa retreated, and Iwaizumi’s frown deepened. He watched Oikawa garner Makki's attention, chatting to him, his attention swinging as easily as his mood. He felt like he'd missed something vital, a small indication, a tiny hint, flying straight through his ears, and it was maddening to not know what it was. 

"Hard to read, yeah?"

Iwaizumi was shaken out of his thoughts by Matsukawa's voice, right over his shoulder, and he spun around quickly, embarrassed.

"Are my thoughts really that obvious?"

Matsukawa smiled at him. "Not gonna lie, yes. Your sea-grey eyes get all squinty and confused. It's as if you're not even trying to hide what you're feeling."

"I'm usually okay at it. I think." 

“Doesn't matter. Come over here.” Mattsun took a couple of steps over to the right, ducking underneath another curtain. Iwaizumi hesitated a moment before following him. He found himself in a clear storeroom, thin and narrow with head-height shelves stacked with jars and body-like forms covered in cloth. 

“What is it?” Iwaizumi asked, wanting to focus on anything but the multiple bodies. 

Matsukawa's mouth twisted into a grim smile. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but about Oikawa... he’s not as much of a dickhead as he seems.” 

Iwaizumi's mind flashed back to firelight. _Mattsun would never forgive me if he knew I let Watari die._

“I think I’ve started to understand that. But he’s still a pretty big dickhead.” 

"True." Matsukawa took a breath. "Okay, look, the deal is that I'm pretty sure he likes you.”

Iwaizumi's eyebrows shot skyward. “He hates me.”

“Nope.”

“He definitely strongly dislikes me. Maybe he respects me to a certain degree, but it’s impossible that he likes me. I would know.”

Matsukawa raised his eyebrows. “You sure? Oikawa’s seduction methods are… weird. And that’s me saying that.” 

“Even if he did, which I don’t think he does, he’s out of luck.” Iwaizumi stated. “I don’t like him. In a romantic sense, I mean. He’s okay otherwise.” 

The memory of Oikawa’s hug floated to the top of his mind, and he shoved it back down. 

Matsukawa winced. “Ouch. Look, all I’m saying is give him a chance, don’t disregard him at the start. And if he fucks up that chance, that’s on him. But give him some sort of opportunity at the very least, ‘kay?” 

Iwaizumi grimaced. “Maybe.”

“Good enough for me. Hell, confirmation that you like his gender is enough for me. I was afraid you'd be one of those people who are only sexually attracted to those deformed mountain deities or some shit."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Just sleep on it. Or with Oiks. I'm sure you'd know then if you like him or not."

Iwaizumi shook his head. "You've gotten the wrong impression of me. I don't do things that way."

Holding up his hands, Matsukawa stepped back. "Okay, okay, no need to get defensive."

Sighing, Iwaizumi moved away. "Thanks for the tip, but I doubt I'll do anything with it. I'm gonna go to sleep now, so goodnight."

"Guest room's on the right," Matsukawa called out. "Sleep like your dead corpse."

Oikawa was already in the room when Iwaizumi entered, sitting at the edge of the one bed shirtless. He looked up as Iwaizumi entered and smiled. Iwaizumi nodded back, his heartbeat quick, unsure of what to do now because of Matsukawa's words. Should he be direct and shut any hope down now? Or should he simply pray that Matsukawa was wrong? 

He turned his attention to the room instead. It was basic, but neater than the main room, but... 

"Looks like we're sharing a bed again," Iwaizumi observed. "Unless you want to share with the hairy naked man."

"Mm, I think I'll give that honour to Yahaba. But it's strange, isn't it? You'd think more people would have two beds instead of one big one."

Iwaizumi could feel Oikawa trying to catch his eye, and he shrugged, making his way to the opposite side of the bed. He'd seen Oikawa shirtless before, when they'd bathed together at that waterfall. Why was this different? It shouldn't be. His breath should not be clogging up his throat, and he shouldn't be acutely aware of Oikawa's every movement, every shift in his stance. 

"Doesn't matter," Iwaizumi said. "We're leaving tomorrow at dawn."

He began unclipping his leather armour, and wondered if he was imagining Oikawa's eyes on his back. He undressed quickly, keeping his back to Oikawa all the time, and neither of them tried to initiate conversation. Glancing down, Iwaizumi rested a hand on his chest, where he knew he should have a scar, but he didn't. Because of Oikawa. Because of Oikawa pushing himself so hard he passed out. He thought of the burns on Oikawa's fingers.

Later, when they were both in bed, Iwaizumi faced Oikawa, the words finally putting enough pressure on his lips to make it out. 

"I never thanked you for healing me." His voice was too soft, and he cleared his throat, attempting to make it come out stronger. "Again, I mean. I would be dead twice over if it wasn't for you. So, thanks.” 

"Don't mention it."

Oikawa smiled at him with eyes of cold, immovable stone, and he turned over, facing away from Iwaizumi.

Staring at Oikawa's shoulders, something inside Iwaizumi hurt, a space of some undefinable thing missing.

He looked away. 

Matsukawa had to be wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya! As always, thank you so much for reading, but I was conflicted on whether to split this chapter into two pieces of not - can you take a second to help me out and fill out this poll? I want to know what chapter length you guys prefer :) https://www.strawpoll.me/19930206  
> Hope to see you in the next one!


	6. Red Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! The strawpoll was almost perfectly evenly spread between all options except the <5k one, so I think I'll go with 10-15k range, since it's the median.   
> Thank you to everyone who voted, it really helps a lot!  
> warning: semi-graphic violence in this chapter.

Oikawa woke with the same coldness he fell asleep with.

He wasn't sure what happened, but Iwaizumi's eyes weren't the same since he'd emerged from the time pool. Half of him feared that he'd somehow lost his Breath in there and some other spirit was occupying his body. The other half feared that he'd imagined the warmth in his gaze when he regarded Oikawa. 

Either way, Oikawa thought, sitting up and glancing over to a slumbering Iwaizumi, his chest rising and falling evenly, it doesn't matter. We have a job to do. 

His eyes ran like water over the back of Iwaizumi’s neck, illuminated by the blue light of sky giving way to dawn, turning his skin an ethereal silver. His dark hair was stuck straight up where his head met the pillow, Oikawa able to see little splotches of ink dust on his temple. 

Swallowing, Oikawa looked away. Iwaizumi would wake soon, and he had to shake the tightness in his chest, the molten lava in his limbs. 

Dressing himself, he wandered out into the main area, waving at Matsukawa and Makki, both thankfully clothed. 

"Do you have a mirror anywhere?" Oikawa asked, brushing a hand down through his loose hair, just sweeping short of his shoulders. It felt harsh, neglected. 

Matsukawa looked up, swallowing down a bite of bread before answering. "Why would we need that? We know we look good."

Hanamaki nodded, holding out a hand across the table. 

"Explains a lot," Oikawa murmured as Mattsun slapped Makki's hand in gleeful celebration. He pulled over a nearby stool and sat with them, reaching across at the food in the middle of the table. 

"Iwaizumi not awake yet?"

Oikawa shook his head, tearing a piece of bread in half. "I think the tree time travel tired him out more than he admits."

"Moss time travel," Hanamaki corrected. 

Oikawa rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Time travelling moss. Does it matter?"

“Trust me, if you ever met a time-travelling tree, or even a time-keeping one, you’d remember the difference.”

“They’re total bigots,” Matsukawa added. “Believe that only the same species of tree can be  _ kilra _ . Backward-thinking cunts.” 

“And speaking of  _ kilra _ matches…” Hanamaki drawled out. 

Oikawa felt Mattsun and Makki stare at him, and he chewed faster, squinting at them. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing-"

"Well -"

Both fell silent, and Oikawa raised his eyebrows. “Nothing?”

Hanamaki leaned forwards, his lanky form folding over the table. “We were just speculating about you and that handsome warrior in your bed.” 

Oikawa let out a dry chuckle. Hanamaki's sparkling eyes reminded him of better times, when teasing used to be a daily occurance in his life. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed it. "I should’ve known you two couldn’t pass up a chance like this. Sorry to disappoint you, but nothing is happening between us. Or going to happen.”

He sounded calm, right? He sounded certain. Not to his own ears, but they knew he was lying. Well, not exactly. Something might be happening to Oikawa involving Iwaizumi, but he doubted it was the other way around. 

Matsukawa shrugged, dipping some bread into the sauce bowl. "I don’t know about that. I spoke to him about you yesterday. He's willing to give you a chance."

"You - what?!" Oikawa felt his bread lodge dangerously near his windpipe, and he began coughing, Makki immediately leaning over to slam Oikawa's back with his hand as hard as he could. 

His back stinging and his food safely swallowed, Oikawa stared at Matsukawa. "Were you serious?"

Matsukawa’s neutral expression didn’t budge. "Don't I look serious?"

"You always look serious - stop avoiding the questions!" Oikawa said, his palms sweaty. "What did you tell him?"

"That you like him romantically."

"You had no proof of that!"

"We certainly do now."

"You are the worst -"

Oikawa cut himself off, hearing footsteps on the rocky floor, and he spun around to see Iwaizumi, dressed in a half-open white shirt and brown pants secured low by rope around his waist, yawning by the entrance of the guest room. Oikawa held his words in, but shot glares at the other two, blinking at him as if they didn't do anything. 

"'Morning," Iwaizumi mumbled, grabbing the back of a chair to drag across to the table. His sleep-roughened voice made Oikawa’s skin prickle. 

"Good morning," everyone chimed back, Makki smirking over at Oikawa. 

Oikawa shifted his stool over, trying not to look at Makki, Mattsun, or Iwaizumi's exposed upper chest. He chose to focus on the food in front of him, sliding the edge of his bread around the bowl's rim. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Iwaizumi ruffle the front of his hair, regarding the table in front of him with a deep thoughtfulness.

“Any sign of Yahaba?” He asked, tearing into the corner of a whole loaf. 

“No. But if you eat any more there’ll be none left for him,” Matsukawa answered. 

Iwaizumi shrugged, reaching across to the milk. “I’m hungry. And I haven’t been able to eat in days, I forgot how good cheese was. We’ll pick up something in the village when we go.”

He scratched his chin, where a thin sheen of stubble was beginning to show, covering his jawline. 

"And I thought Oiks was cruel," Makki commented. 

"I'll pay for him," Iwaizumi said through a mouthful of milk, bread and cheese. Some half-chewed food flew out of his mouth and landed near Hanamaki, who flicked it away, raising an eyebrow at Oikawa. 

Oikawa stuck out his tongue at him, inclining his head towards Matsukawa, who was picking the dirt from under his toenails, one bare heel propped up on the table. Makki didn't get to judge his taste in men. Shaking his head, Makki leaned back, casting his gaze back to Iwaizumi, who looked like he was attempting to shovel as much as possible into his mouth until he choked on it. 

"Oh, Oikawa," Iwaizumi said, swallowing his last mouthful. "I forgot to tell you, but I managed to push guys back with my power on command during the time pool thing. It's probably the only reason I got out of there alive, so thanks for that."

"I'm surprised you managed to do that."

"Trust me, I'm still in disbelief that you actually taught me something useful too."

Hanamaki snickered, and Oikawa glared at him. "Don't laugh! When did you ever teach someone anything useful?"

"Ah," Hanamaki began, holding up a single finger. "I'm delighted you asked me that. As a matter of fact, hear for yourself. Yahaba's coming over now."

Oikawa turned around, and sure enough Yahaba was dragging himself over to the table, seemingly missing the fact that there were no more chairs. Actually, now that Oikawa properly looked around the cave, there were no more chairs at all. It didn't surprise him much that Matsukawa didn't have visitors often. The nearby villagers left them alone, and the only interaction Matsukawa had with them was when he had to buy some food he couldn't grow himself. Hanamaki, on the other hand, travelled into the village most days, although rarely appearing as his preferred form, simply to wreck as many little pockets of chaos as he could. A stolen coin here and there, a missing shoe, a sandbag suddenly emptying… Oikawa was relieved that the villagers hadn't connected the unfortunate events to the two weirdos in the cave yet. 

"Hello," Yahaba greeted them, reaching for the only loaf left on the table. 

Hanamaki's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. "Not so fast. Gotta show Oikawa what I taught you yesterday first."

Yahaba, too tired to argue, shrugged his shoulders. "Sure thing, Hanamaki-senpai."

"Hey, how come he gets a senpai and I don't?" Oikawa interjected, and Hanamaki shrugged at him. 

"Try being a better teacher. Maybe that'd help."

This time, it was Iwaizumi who chuckled, his shoulder brushing against Oikawa's with the movement. He ignored Oikawa's indignant glower, and focused on Yahaba. 

"So what did Hanamaki show you?"

Yahaba closed his eyes, touching one of his hands with the other. 

"It'll take a trok," Hanamaki said. "He's not that good at it yet."

"Done!" Yahaba declared, presenting his hand, which now had long, thick nails, sharpened to a rough point at the tips. 

Oikawa frowned, examining them. "I thought you couldn't shift yourself?"

"I can't, but my nails don't count. They're dead cells, after all. It's a loophole Hanamaki-senpai thought of - and now I do have a weapon for close fights, when I'm out of arrows."

"If they're willing to stop and wait until you shift them," Oikawa pointed out. 

"I'll get faster at it."

"I still say that learning to solidify your Breath would be better. The blood that gets in your throat is a bit annoying, but you'll get used to it." 

Yahaba frowned, able to pick up the bread, his nails shrinking again. "I… I don't think I want to know what that feels like."

"That's what I used to think," Oikawa told him, and everyone fell silent. 

“Thanks for that,” Makki told him. “I love being reminded of murder while I’m digesting my breakfast.” 

"Shitty foreshadowing," Matsukawa murmured, and Oikawa raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"Just an observation," Matsukawa answered, turning his head back towards Yahaba. "Sorry there's no seats left. You like standing, right?"

"Here," Iwaizumi told Yahaba, standing up. "Take my chair. I'm done eating anyways."

"There's nothing left to eat…."

Iwaizumi slapped him on the back as he walked past. "Don't worry about it. We'll drop into the village quickly to buy whatever you want."

Yahaba's head bopped up, his eyes bright. "Anything?"

"Anything under twelve drogs."

Yahaba's shoulders dropped, and he stared at the empty bowls on the table. "Thanks, Iwaizumi-san…."

Matsukawa let out an abrupt, short laugh. "Where'd you find this guy, Oiks? He's almost as much of a bastard as you."

"The king's personal convoy, of course." Hanamaki grinned. "Where else?" 

"How'd you know that?" Iwaizumi queried. 

Hanamaki waved a hand. "Oh, please, Mr. I-Tame-Dragons. Everyone knows who you are if they bother to pay attention for two troks. That scar on your wrist from battling that freak ferqol down south? Your stories always leave marks on you, and I'm shocked more people don't recognise you."

"Kyoutani did," Yahaba said, trying in vain to scrape the last flakes of cheese from the plate. "He said it was because of your skin colour, and that tattoo on your arm. Also, you carry yourself like you fight storms and win, like you glared it into submission.” 

Iwaizumi blinked. "Oh. Right. Should I be flattered?” 

“Probably not.” Matsukawa grinned at Yahaba. "Bet this guy hadn't heard how awkward he can be around compliments though."

Oikawa looked over at Iwaizumi, who was backing away, his cheeks burning red. 

"I'm not awkward," he insisted, bumping into a table corner. "I'll meet you outside in a bit to leave, alright?"

He straightened, rubbing his hip, and vanished back into the bedroom. 

“What a guy,” Hanamaki said. 

“A true legend,” Matsukawa affirmed, and Oikawa huffed. 

“He's gone, you don't have to suck his dick anymore."

"Ah, there's where you're wrong," Matsukawa leaned back, eyes-half lidded. "That's exactly the reason why we have to."

Oikawa rolled his eyes over to Yahaba, who looked just as confused, but knew better than to question it. Standing up, Oikawa made his way back to the bedroom, an idea in mind. 

“Before we go, let me see how you used your white,” Oikawa requested, leaning against the frame of the door. 

Iwaizumi, razor in hand, nodded. “I’d like to improve my control on it.” 

“And I’d like to find out what exactly it is,” Oikawa added on. His eyes skipped over Iwaizumi’s half-shaven face. “Isn’t that difficult to do without seeing yourself?”

“I’m used to it,” Iwaizumi replied, drawing a hand down his cheek to stretch out his skin. “I don’t like having the shitty beginnings of a beard, even if I’m in the middle of hunting something down.”

Oikawa rubbed his own chin, where the spiky startings of a beard was growing. Maybe he should ask Iwaizumi for a loan of his razor sometime. 

"Are you going to wait there and watch until I'm done?" Iwaizumi asked, and Oikawa shook his head, perhaps a bit too quickly. 

"I'll postpone the gift of my presence until you're done," he quipped back.

"Yeah, sure. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  
  


Iwaizumi cracked his knuckles as he returned to the main room, with a smooth jaw and a light cloak fastened around his shoulders. "Alright. I think I can command it on will now."

“What’re you cracking your knuckles for?” Hanamaki asked lazily. “Gonna fight it into submission?” 

Iwaizumi glared over at him. “Maybe.” 

“Then come on, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa urged. “Show me.”

Closing his eyes, Iwaizumi nodded, and Oikawa could hear his exhale.

Oikawa felt a massive surge in the air, and he flung himself to the side just in time, his warped, scarred skin giving a dangerous tug. Oikawa’s stomach twisted, a rush of wind slamming against the table behind him and sending it crashing back into the rock shelves. Cloth packages burst open, twine tangled up, jars smashed, splattering unknown liquids everywhere. As he picked himself back up, Oikawa thought he saw mist oozing out of one jar's corner. The table lay in fractured wooden pieces, patches soaked in goop. 

"Fuck. Sorry, Oikawa." Iwaizumi stepped forwards, hand rising. "I thought I had more control - I really didn't mean it to be that strong."

"That's all I get as an apology? You nearly killed me," Oikawa replied, brushing his pants clear of cave dust. He threw a look towards the cave wall, where thin fractures were crackling out from where the table had hit it. 

"You probably wouldn't have died. Only a few broken bones."

"Like that makes it all better."

Matsukawa turned around from the breakfast table, regarding the mess with flat eyes. "You're both cleaning that up."

"I didn't do anything!" Oikawa protested.

"You did teach him how to do that," Yahaba pointed out, staring at the mess. 

"Maybe, but -" Oikawa stopped, then huffed. "Fine. I'll do one tenth of the work."

"I don't care, as long as it's gone and I don't have to do it."

After everything was sorted to the best of their ability (some stains would remain on the cave floor for eternity) Oikawa led Iwaizumi outside to safely test his progress. 

"Okay," Oikawa announced, clapping his hands together. "Let's try that again, will we? Do that thing again, but less… destruction."

"You might want to stand to the side this time," Iwaizumi mentioned, and Oikawa lifted his eyebrows. 

"How about you don't aim at me this time?"

"I can't exactly control where it goes yet, if you hadn't noticed."

"I noticed," Oikawa responded, stepping aside. "Go right ahead."

Iwaizumi pushed, and splints rained from the tree in front of him, his power driving through about half the thickness, but dissipating before cutting through completely. The remaining parts, however, had deep cracks running through the entirety of it, and Oikawa doubted it would survive. 

"That's… a lot weaker," Oikawa noted. 

Iwaizumi crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his shoulder against a nearby tree. "Sorry to disappoint."

The sound of his harsh breathing reached Oikawa, and he squinted at Iwaizumi. "So you run out of power with every blast?"

"Looks like it. I can't control whatever amount comes out, though. It's just whatever is there is released at once."

"That's a bit of an issue."

Oikawa ran through a few basic exercises with him, concentrating on the one thing Oikawa himself excelled in - control. He adapted his training to fit with Iwaizumi's nature the best he could, but he found Iwaizumi to be patient, accepting Oikawa's guidance without any resistance or quips. He improved quickly, almost irritatingly so - it had taken Oikawa much longer to grasp the finer mechanics. Then again, he didn’t have a teacher, and definitely not one as good as him. 

“Fuck it,” Iwaizumi hissed out as he was lurched to the side, almost toppling over. 

Oikawa watched as he inhaled deeply, his fists furling and unfurling, a staunch concentration stuck on his face. 

“Will we take a break and try to put it into practice?” Oikawa asked, and Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed, wiping some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Sparring! And you can give me a few tips while you’re at it, return the favour.” 

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Not with your injury. You’ll tear it open.” 

“That requires you to be able to put a hand on me, which, frankly, I’m not too worried about.” 

“Didn’t Matsukawa say even movement could be too much?” 

Oikawa dismissed him with an idle wave. "Yahaba can stitch me up again. He's improved since then under my careful tuition, obviously."

"I still don't think it's worth it. Can't Matsukawa or Hanamaki spar with me?" 

“They’re all about trickery, they don’t know shit about fighting. Come on, Iwa-channnnn." Oikawa felt his voice slip into whining. "I need to learn.” 

Iwaizumi shut his eyes. "Fine. You're gonna give me a headache otherwise. But we're going slowly, alright? No exceptions."

Oikawa nodded. "Of course. I don't want to die. That's exactly why I'm having you teach me."

Iwaizumi's teachings were gentler than Oikawa had remembered, or perhaps he was being more careful with every motion, his fingers almost wary to touch Oikawa's skin. After the third deflection that barely hurt Oikawa's palm, he grew impatient. 

"You're going too easy on me, Iwa-chan," he protested, gripping Iwaizumi's wrist as it sped past his cheek, stopping his movement. “Anyone attacking me won't be so lenient. And you’re not using your power!” 

"Maybe you're just improving."

“As if.” Oikawa snorted. "I know when I'm being babied."

He felt Iwaizumi’s wrist twist out of his grip, instead fingers snapping around his wrist and yanking. At the same time, Iwaizumi’s foot knocked Oikawa’s heel forwards, and he was so off balance that one more push on his shoulder sent him falling backwards. 

He felt Iwaizumi tug on his wrists a little, slowing his fall, so when he hit the ground it was more of a gentle thud than anything. 

“Ow,” Oikawa complained, squinting up at Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi grinned down at him, his hands clamped around Oikawa’s wrists, one knee in between Oikawa’s legs. His eyes, only a handspan away from Oikawa’s, were folded up in amusement, his breath fading warmly on the top of Oikawa’s nose. 

“Is that more like what you wanted?” 

“I - um, maybe,” Oikawa managed to get out, his breath thick and cheeks hot. He made an attempt to twist his wrists, but they were firmly pinned to the ground, half of Iwaizumi’s weight on them. He could feel his heartbeat racing within them, rebelling against the pressure of Iwaizumi’s fingers. 

"Maybe?" Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Oikawa breathed out. "Something like this."

Iwaizumi held his gaze, his grin fading. For a moment, Oikawa thought his gaze dropped to his lips. 

“Then I’ll teach you how to do it,” Iwaizumi told him, releasing one of Oikawa’s wrists to gesture at Oikawa’s neck. “It’s useful when you’re up against armoured enemies, they go down easily and they can barely defend themselves if you jab your blade in the gap between their breastplate and helmet, just… here.” 

He touched the base of Oikawa’s neck, just above the hollow in between his collarbones. 

“You only need a small dagger to do serious harm.” 

Oikawa swallowed. His mouth ran dry, Iwaizumi’s finger rough and tender on his skin. 

“Okay,” he said, and Iwaizumi withdrew his hand, standing up again. 

“That’s it?” 

He stuck out his hand, and Oikawa took it, trying not to notice how nicely Iwaizumi’s palm curved into his, the hard contours of his fingers. 

“I can’t be hilarious all the time, Iwa-chan, it’s exhausting,” Oikawa replied, Iwaizumi pulling him to his feet with impressive ease. 

“The only thing hilarious about you is that you think you’re funny.” 

Oikawa straightened, his eyes level with Iwaizumi’s eyebrows, and was reminded that he was actually taller than him. Having Iwaizumi’s smirking face above his, pupils dilated and eyelids low, however, was… something. 

Oikawa didn’t dare to think further than that. 

“Guys.” 

They both turned to see Hanamaki, thankfully clothed, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Did ye by chance do something to stir up the nearby villagers?”

Matsukawa ducked through the curtain of the entrance as Oikawa responded. 

“I may have threatened to behead one or two, yes.” 

“I think they’re coming to call your bluff, Oiks. I can smell their sweat from here.” 

“How far?” Iwaizumi asked, and Hanamaki sniffed the air again. 

“‘Bout near the edge of the forest. Some of them won’t make it through there and you can bet that they’re gonna blame us for that.” 

Iwaizumi grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck, casting a glance into the treeline. "Shit. Can we make it through the forest and stop them from entering the time pools?"

"I don't know why you want to save them," Matsukawa pointed out. "The more of them the trees catch, the less there are to burn us."

"There may be more, but they'll be angrier."

"Eh, in any case it's too late." Matsukawa stared past them, into the shadows hanging between the branches. "The deities are happy. Meaning they've already stolen a few memories, if not entire people."

"How many are there?" Iwaizumi asked, and Matsukawa shrugged. "Fuck if I know. The forest is happy, that's all I can tell you."

He looked at Hanamaki, whose nose was scrunched up. "You know how much the average person sweats."

"There's a lot of sweat," Hanamaki said, and Oikawa sighed. 

"We'd better start moving then."

Voices began sounding through the trees like rain leaking through a wooden ceiling, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi looked at each other.

"Oh, shit."

Wandering out of the cave, Yahaba squinted at the treeline. "What's going on -"

"Yahaba shut up and get inside," Oikawa blurted out, shoving him back into the cave. 

"Why? What's - oh."

Oikawa guessed that Yahaba had caught sight of the people through the tree's hairline, a series of shadows and limbs spread out over far too vast an area to be anything like the small numbers Oikawa had scared away before. Oikawa could smell their determination, their vengeance for the people they'd lost to magickers, the justifications propping them up, raising their voices. This wasn't a hastily-thrown together mob he'd faced before. This was an organised attack. 

"We'll just get trapped in the cave," Yahaba protested, and Matsukawa shook his head, jogging lightly through the doorway. 

"I knew this might happen to two weirdos living near a village. There's an exit through the caves we can get out from, and it'll take us to the other side of this mountain if they won't clear off."

The crowd's voice boomed through the cave, and with a crawling feeling, Oikawa knew how close they were. 

"If you won't come out we'll go in!"

"Apparently they think they can go through solid rock," Matsukawa said, rounding to the edge of the doorway. 

"We have the boy!"

A sharp, heightened voice shot through the cave. 

"Let go of me-"

Yahaba froze, his feet already rotating back. "The boy -"

Oikawa seized his arm. "He's no magicker, they won't hurt him. Go."

"The son of a murderer we burned, used to identify another murder! It's a sort of justice, isn't it?"

The crowd thundered behind him, and Yahaba still didn’t move. 

"You swore you would listen to me," Oikawa told Yahaba. "You saw what happened already. Do you really want to add to that?"

"But-"

Iwaizumi placed a hand on Yahaba's shoulder. "You stay here. I'll make sure the boy is safe."

Oikawa's head whipped around to Iwaizumi. " _ Ikol _ , is your mind broken? They will burn you without a trok's thought."

"They can try." Iwaizumi pushed Yahaba towards Matsukawa and Makki. "I'll handle this."

"You are the worst - bastard - I-" Oikawa blew out a breath. "Yahaba, go with them. We'll catch up."

"We'll?"

"Iwa-chan will get killed again if he goes alone."

"Well, whatever. We're sealing the door before they start throwing in oil."

Matsukawa slipped into one side room, the one with the cloaked bodies. The rock wall began sliding over the opening. 

Iwaizumi turned to Oikawa, his eyes narrowing. "It's fine. You can stay here too."

His shoulder hit off of Oikawa's as he moved past, slipping through the gap. Oikawa stood there, unsure of whether to feel outraged or relieved. He heard yelling outside, and Iwaizumi's deep, confident voice slicing through the babbling, a dimming of noise, then increasing, rising, knocking around the cave walls and pushing on Oikawa, swelling pressure in his chest to get out there. Fear clutched at his ankles like mislaid hands as he spun around, but he shook them off, lurching sideways through the narrowing doorway, the coarse cloth over it scraping against the side of his face. 

He stopped beside Iwaizumi, who frowned at him. "You actually-"

"No time for that," Oikawa cut him off, gaze darting around, taking careful stock of the situation. 

There were more people than he'd estimated, what seemed like most of the population of the village they skirted around staring at him, long poles in hand, topped by some sort of twisted, pointed metal. Classic mob material, Oikawa thought grimly. 

The stink of anger clogged up his mouth, and he resisted the urge to fold a palm over his lower face. 

Oikawa raised his hands, sweeping his voice outwards. "Everyone -"

"That's him!"

"That's the Breather!"

The crowd surged forwards, and Iwaizumi stepped out in front of Oikawa, drawing his sword. Hesitation dragged through them, their feet sinking down uncertain into the soft brown leaves. 

"Have I done anything to harm you?" Oikawa asked. 

One man stepped forwards. "You threatened to take my head off."

"But I didn't," Oikawa reminded him, wishing he'd actually use the head he left him. "Nobody's hurt, and I promise you we will leave the same way."

"Nobody's hurt?" The man flung his hand behind him. "Those trees of blain swallowed three of us!"

Shit. Oikawa lifted his hands. "That had nothing to do with us. We didn't even know you were coming."

"It's a dirty, rot-ridden trap you left for us!"

"We can't control trees," Iwaizumi told him, levelling his blade. "Let the boy go, leave, and I won't have to hurt you."

"Ah yes, the boy!"

They pushed the boy forwards, and there was grey ash smudged over his face, clotted in his light auburn hair. He squirmed, shirt taut around his thin arms and the hem leaving a red line on his neck as he tried to escape. 

The man grabbed him by his hair and propelled him towards Oikawa. "Isn't that the man that brought your dog back from the dead? That's him, isn't it?"

"I don't know! Let me go!"

The boy kicked the man's shins, who barely flinched, but his jaw tensed, flinging the boy back into the mob. "He said it was him."

A cry was rushed up from the depths of the people, spreading outwards like a virus, rawing into a wordless demand. Iwaizumi reached back a hand, pushing against Oikawa's chest. 

"Run to the left. Get the boy, or at least free him so he can run away," he said, not looking back. He sheathed his sword. "Nothing you can say can solve this now, trust me."

Oikawa didn't need Iwaizumi to tell him that. His lungs felt like matted hair was growing on the insides, the stink of tens of raging people clotting up his breathing. 

"Try not to die again," Oikawa told him, and he heard Iwaizumi huff.

"Same to you."

They charged, a hundred feet pounding a few paces, and Oikawa dove to the side. Several split off to corner him, but most kept their attention to Iwaizumi, who stepped forwards, driving the hilt of his sword into someone's chin. Oikawa turned his gaze ahead of him, dodging underneath a few stray hands, slipping his small daggers into his palms with a prayer he wouldn't have to use them. 

Iwaizumi kept moving, using his sheathed blade to manoeuvre people around him, selecting backs of knees to push, arms to yank, hips to nudge, sending people spiralling off balance around him, sometimes toppling to the ground. Oikawa admired his graceful movements, every twist of his body causing some villager to wobble, their weapons fleeting past him. 

He spotted the child being held by a rugged man near the back, a shovel in his hand, a glint in his eyes as Oikawa approached. Orange hair was clenched in his fist, and Oikawa could see redness at the edge of the kid's hairline. 

Before he could move, Oikawa Breathed, drawing his Breath along the side of the man's hand, slicing open his skin in a thin sliver of crimson. The boy tried to lurch away from him, but was held firmly, despite the blood dripping onto the top of his head. 

Oikawa was cursed out by the man in some insults he didn't recognise, and he ducked as the shovel flew over his head, feeling it clip the upper strands of his hair. Breathing again, this time he ran his Breath around the man's wrist in a shallow cut, and the boy cried out as more blood spilled down into his hair, but the man's grip was solid, and the next swing of the shovel was even faster. Oikawa jumped back as it swerved in front of his chest - but the man changed it to a shove forwards, and Oikawa was slammed straight in the ribs with the edge of the shovel, careening back on his heels. Straightening up, he barely had time to dip down again into a crouch to dodge the next attack, inhaling deeply. This man wasn't giving him another chance to focus and Breathe, and Oikawa tried to make space between them, but every stride was matched by the man, yanking the boy along with him. 

Oikawa rolled under a low hook of the implement, hopping to his feet just behind the man, and an image flashed across his mind. Hitting the back of the man's knees with his heel, he drove his palm against his shoulder, at the same time yanking on his arm. And just as Oikawa did earlier that day, the man lost his balance, Oikawa placing his whole weight on him to drive him downwards. Yelping, the boy fell with him, his head jerked backwards with a snap of his spine. The tiny hilt of his dagger felt hot in Oikawa's palm as he straddled the man, putting his knee down on one arm, holding the blade to his throat in the other. 

"Let the boy go," Oikawa ordered, and the man spat in his eye. 

Exhaling, Oikawa spun out his dagger and jabbed it through the man's wrist, spewing blood in spurts. The man howled in pain, and the child finally scrambled away, free. Oikawa flew to his feet, watching the boy running through the forest, debating if it was worth going after him. Suddenly, his ankles were swept from beneath him and he dropped to the earth. Before he could regain any sense of balance, the man's hands were wrapped around his throat, ramming his head down into the dirt. 

"You fucking Breather," the man hissed, his wrist still pumping blood. "You can't Breathe if your breath can't leave your chest, can you? You're so fucking powerful, and you can't do shit against an ordinary guy's hand."

Oikawa gripped his hand, his nails drawing blood, and realised why the boy couldn't pull away from him. His fingers felt like they were battling against muscles of stone, his throat burning for air, closing over, his mind draining of oxygen. Kicking out against the man's torso yielded the same results - nothing, and Oikawa felt strength vanish from his body, even as the man’s blood spread over his neck. He groped around for his fallen blades, hoping blindly that they’d landed nearby, but his vision was watering, pressure walling up behind his eyes. He didn’t have time. 

Oikawa dug his fingers into the wound he'd created, feeling the wet, slippery tendons contract taunt against them. The man screamed, his grip loosening for an instant - but an instant was all Oikawa needed to Breathe, slicing the man's throat wide open. Hot blood sprayed against his face, but the man's hands rose in a panic to try and close over the wound, and Oikawa kicked him back, springing to his feet. His head gave a pang, and he stumbled, black spots festering like mould on the edges of his blurry vision, but he stayed upright as the man went limp, the ground darkening beneath him. His Breath returned to him, stained with sticky crimson, and Oikawa wiped the man’s blood off of his lips with the back of his hand. 

Oikawa drew in a breath. It scraped against his throat as if it was something foreign.

Near him, Iwaizumi grunted, and Oikawa glanced over to see him grasping his shoulder, a trickle of blood matching the smear on a crescent blade, raised high for another blow. Iwaizumi rolled out of the way as it dropped, coming up on his feet. Scanning his opponent, Oikawa realised that she wasn't the typical untrained villager - she held herself with a sort of grace, a justification running deeper than fickle anger whipped up by someone else. Her body, hidden beneath ordinary robes, moved too surely, every action too calculated to be just anyone. 

Oikawa cursed, forced to back away as more people found him. She had to be an Osole plant, the sadistic, misguided bastards. They were trained to perfection, especially to fight people like them, enhanced by nothing more than their righteous mission to erase all magickers - or skuts, as they were branded, it made them seem less human - from the world. Oikawa had a few encounters with them before, and he'd rather leave the memory of the blood in the past. His throat throbbed.

Was she the one who had riled the whole village up again? Surely they would've forgotten about their passing through if they didn't harm anyone… had she been keeping an eye on Matsukawa and Hanamaki? 

Oikawa had no time to mull over it. He was getting close to the edge of the forest, feeling the pressure of whispers on his back, hauling him and his juicy memories into the tangled branches. Matsukawa wasn't there to protect him this time. He was fair game. 

Casting his gaze beyond, he saw Iwaizumi draw his sword, the woman with golden hair grabbing another sickle from a nearby watcher. Everyone else appeared to be backing off, aware that if they were caught in a fight between those two, it wouldn't end well for them. Iwaizumi dropped his stance, angling his blade sideways as she circled him, and Oikawa could almost see her figuring out openings, the sneaky type of attacking Osole had hit him with. He wondered if Iwaizumi had ever encountered them before - for his sake, Oikawa hoped that he had. 

"Surrender and we'll burn you quickly," one called out to him, and it was cheered on by several more, gathering around him in an ever-tightening semi-circle. 

Oikawa lifted his hands, aware that he had blood all over his front, splattered from his lips to his waist. He saw people kneel by the man he'd just killed, desperately pressing cloth over his neck, his wrist, slapping his face, trying to help him cling on. He smelled like rotten citrus, and Oikawa knew even he couldn't help the man now. 

"He's dead."

"I can't believe…"

"This is why magickers can't stay here." 

Oikawa's back hit sharp bark, chewing through his shirt and biting straight into his skin. Someone threw a pot of oil at him, and he barely managed to dodge it, bursting against the tree behind him. Oikawa’s eyes darted around, searching for an exit. The boy was free, and he was sure Iwaizumi could handle himself… 

A form bounded towards him, and Oikawa readied his Breath, until he recognised the before-sunset colour of the fur, the faded green of the sharp eyes. 

Hanamaki, shifted into a waist-high, slender creature, circled Oikawa protectively, snapping and growling, keeping them at bay. 

“Mud-ridden skut!” 

The people gave uncertain stabs here and there, but Hanamaki’s paws left depth indents in the earth, and nobody appeared willing to take him on. The spears gradually came closer, and Oikawa Breathed, slicing off the ends of shovels, of pitchforks, all thunking into the ground safely. 

Smoke dropped down over the area, and people halted, staring up into the sky, unsure of what to do. Oikawa signalled to Iwaizumi to cover his face, who inclined his head, covering his lower face with one hand. The Osole ripped off the end of her shirt and secured it over her nose and mouth in a single trok, continuing her onslaught on Iwaizumi, who defended one-handed, one hand holding his nose shut. Then, as Oikawa expected, one by one people collapsed to the ground, twitching ever-so-slightly.

Searching for the source, Oikawa pinned it to the entrance of the cave, and sure enough, Matsukawa stepped out a moment later, hands cradling a deep dish full of burning...something. Oikawa was never sure of what herbs exactly he used, or if he combined it with magic, but Matsukawa's answers were elusive enough to make Oikawa sure that it was nothing good. Matsukawa's lower face was bound by tight bandages, stepping around the unconscious people like some sort of personified sickness, occasionally bending down to examine and shift someone's position. 

Oikawa rested a hand on Makki's shoulder. "Tell Mattsun I owe him one."

Makki growled at him. 

"Okay, fine, I owe you one too. But I would've been able to handle that myself."

The panther-like animal morphed, and Hanamaki stood naked next to him a trok later, shaking his head. "The fuck you would've."

"Did you unshift just to tell me that?"

"Yup. Now go help Iwaizumi and win over his heart or whatever," Makki told him, his arms already bulking up into elegant muscles covered by a thin layer of fur. "I'm going to check that nobody managed to escape Mattsun's smoke."

He ran off again, and Oikawa turned towards Iwaizumi, who was warding off the sickle-bearing woman with two hands on his sword, blood seeping through where his cloak was draped over his shoulder. 

Oikawa's eyes tracked the fight - or rather, tried to, his Breath curling in his mouth, ready to spear her heart. They were interlacing together, blocking blows from the other and glancing off their steel, moving so erratically that Oikawa hesitated. He wasn't sure he had the precision to Breathe across this distance and slice through her without hurting Iwaizumi. Would she have protective measures against his Breath?

Only one way to find out. Oikawa Breathed, and it sped towards the battle, a translucent glimmer in the air. Her gaze danced sideways, and she yanked out a little bag, which she shook at Oikawa's stream of Breath. A spark flew from the bag, and Oikawa's Breath ignited, dissipating into nothing but a brief cloud of smoke. It had taken none of her rhythm, and she bent around Iwaizumi's swing with ease, pushing the bag back into her back pocket. 

Oikawa made his way towards the man’s corpse, searching for his daggers. The old-fashioned way it was. As he knelt and picked them up, her gaze caught on him, and she broke away from Iwaizumi, nimbly leaping over the sleeping bodies. 

She threw back a question over her shoulder. 

“Why are you protecting a skut?!” 

Iwaizumi started after her, brow furrowed. “He’s not a threat -“

He stopped as soon as he saw the blood on Oikawa, kneeling over a man soaking in his own red puddle. Oikawa raised his daggers just in time, the edge of her sickles screeching against his, and for a moment he feared that his thinner blades would break, bending under the force of her assault. Flinging her sickles away to the side, Oikawa backed up quickly, trying to put more space between them, but she followed him, swiping at his sides. Oikawa Breathed, deflecting one off of his Breath and blocking the other with his blade. 

Iwaizumi caught up to her, and his eyes met Oikawa's, a warning flashing brightly in them. 

Oikawa felt the air still, and he leapt sideways as a rush of wind blasted from Iwaizumi's body. She attempted to dodge, but it hit her in the back, tossing her forwards, her shoulders carving grooves in the earth. Iwaizumi dropped to his knees, and his eyes met Oikawa's, calm and flat, ringed by furious white. Oikawa Breathed, his Breath whipping towards her fallen chest, but she pushed herself up from the ground, twisting her body so his Breath pierced through her shoulder instead with a stifled cry. Iwaizumi rose to his feet again, and she narrowed her eyes at him, one arm hanging limp by her side, crimson slowly staining down her sleeve. 

"Now it makes sense."

Oikawa realised that she hadn't known that Iwaizumi was a skut, too. Oikawa readied his blades, circling back to stand beside Iwaizumi, who felt… volatile. There was a pulsating in the ground underneath Iwaizumi's feet, a subtle steel scent to the air around him, and when Oikawa dared to take his eyes away from the woman for a beat, Iwaizumi was blinking fast, his irises bleaching. 

"If you lose control I'm going to slap you," Oikawa told him, and Iwaizumi grimaced, his hand tightening around his hilt.

"You'll be able to calm me down, right?"

"If you are even considering using your white again I-"

Oikawa didn't get through his sentence. She sprung at them, slashing in a wide arc, and Iwaizumi released again, sending her flying back into the forest. They heard a thud.

Turning to Iwaizumi, he was ready with a smile on his lips, a remark waiting on his tongue, but they drained from him as soon as he saw how big Iwaizumi's white was, almost completely overtaking his irises. Suddenly, Oikawa noticed the air moving around him, spinning faster and harder. 

Within a few troks, the wind tore into the nearby trees, branches cracked and leaves shredded, bark shooting out and embedding themselves in the cave wall, fracturing all around it. 

"Iwa-chan -" Oikawa grabbed his arm, forcing him to face him. "Open your mouth."

Iwaizumi shook his head, backing away from Oikawa, the winds whirling through his hair. Oikawa could feel it dragging his clothes, millions of hands trying to push him away from Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi was breathing heavily. "You can't Breathe. Your injury - I can handle this. I can control it."

A branch shot towards Oikawa, and he ducked, the wood cracking against the rock wall behind him.

"Then now would be a great time to control yourself," Oikawa called out, but he wasn't even sure that Iwaizumi heard him, the wind tearing words from his dried lips. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yahaba come out from the cave, hands held up in front of his face protectively. Oikawa gestured for him to move back, his own face numbing from the speeding air. It felt like a continuous gush of water against his skin, determined to split open his flesh, lacerate his clothes to tatters, piercing through his hair and raking down his scalp. His arms covering his face, Oikawa moved closer to Iwaizumi, his eyes narrowed to slits, but from his limited field of vision he could see Iwaizumi on his knees, sword laying beside him. His shoulders were rising and falling rapidly, and Oikawa forced his way through the wall of air, using his Breath to cut a path of resistance. 

Oikawa plunged to his knees, the pressure of the air like the sky's weight on his back. 

"Iwa-chan!" he shouted, but Iwaizumi's head didn't turn, bent down towards the earth.

Oikawa felt a shift beneath his knees, and he realised fractures were ripping across the dirt, thin little chasms circling out from underneath Iwaizumi. He heard the bigger trees creak, the clearing shuddering under the stress of the concentration of power. Seizing Iwaizumi's shoulders, Oikawa ducked to see Iwaizumi's face, and his breath turned icy in his lungs. Iwaizumi's eyes were almost fully white, his desperate blinks doing nothing to batter back the leeching blankness. Oikawa's fingers scrabbled against his jaw, thumb pulling down Iwaizumi's chin without resistance, which scared him. 

How much of Iwaizumi was left when he was like this?

" _ Cesabitlh," _ Oikawa Breathed out, his Breath just barely making it inside Iwaizumi's mouth before it was taken by the wind. 

Something inside Oikawa gave a tug, and Oikawa grit his jaw, squeezing Iwaizumi's shoulder. He'd be fine. His lungs pinched up, and Oikawa tried to slow his heartbeat, but it was difficult in the centre of a whirlpool of wind, trees splintering around him, the sounds of lost twigs and rocks pelting against the mountainside hardly audible over the wind's own growl. Oikawa closed his eyes, bending his head forwards to rest against the side of Iwaizumi's shoulder. 

And as if a god had snapped their fingers, the air smelled stale, and the winds vanished, all of the debris plummeting to the ground. The leaves whispered their thanks as they floated to the ground. Oikawa winced at the sound of branches plunging into bodies, his Breath returning and freeing his lungs. He inhaled, lifting up his head.

"Hey," Oikawa said, shaking Iwaizumi's shoulder. 

To his relief, Iwaizumi raised his head groggily, his eyes lackluster and glazed over, but the right, light-green colour. "I told you-" he coughed, one hand covering his mouth. "I told you I could control it. When you're here to help."

Oikawa laughed. "You're so fucking stupid. We could've defeated one Osole on our own."

"That was faster, wasn't it?" Iwaizumi pointed out, wrapping his fingers around his sword hilt, and Oikawa couldn't argue with that.

Attempting to get to his feet, he trembled, lurching backwards a little before finding his balance, standing with a grunt of effort. He looked down at Oikawa, offering him his hand. 

"You Breathed, didn't you? Is your injury alright?" 

Oikawa took his hand. "I don't feel much weaker. Just hungry. Buy me a meal at the next village, and everything will be fine." 

He saw the edges of Iwaizumi's mouth crinkle, evidence of a suppressed smile. "I suppose I can live with that." 

Abruptly, Oikawa heard a crackling to his right, from where Iwaizumi had tossed the Osole into the woods. 

A shadow flashed above him, and he turned just in time to see Iwaizumi throw up his left arm in the path of the sickles, but they never connected. 

He heard a crunch, and the sickles dropped to the dirt just before Iwaizumi’s forearm. 

Iwaizumi lowered his arm to see the Osole swaying backwards, one weak leg propping her up as blood spilled from her neck, pouring down her front, dyeing her dark robes black. She collapsed, smacking off of the ground with a wet clunk. 

He felt Iwaizumi’s hand grip his arm, and he scanned around them. It didn’t take him long to find the explanation. 

Yahaba stood nearby, face grey. 

All Oikawa could see was blood on his lips.

Oikawa walked forwards until he was standing over her body, dumping blood into the dirt. It didn't seep - it gushed out all at once, leaving a pool for the reminder to leak out into. The edges of the callous hole were ragged, a section literally punched out of her neck, all of the severed tendons and corrugated pipes hanging down to her collarbones. Her eyes were dull, narrow, jaw hanging down slightly. Oikawa's stomach gave a jerk, the odour of soured blood stuffing up his nose. He had to look away. 

Coughing, Yahaba turned away, a hand pressed over his mouth. A few troks later, Oikawa heard him retching onto the ground, bent double. He sounded like when Oikawa had been forced to pierce the windpipe of a ferqol attacking him - a hacking wheeze, interrupted by only a wet gargling. 

Matsukawa crouched and set the giant bowl on the ground, only a few embers smouldering in it now. Jogging over to them, Hanamaki let out a low whistle. 

"Remind me never to piss you off, Yahaba."

Oikawa's eyes traced a path down from Yahaba's mouth to the ground, where a splatter of milk and blood was, more than Oikawa could ever remember swallowing. He could only imagine how badly Yahaba's throat was burning, how sick and dirty his lungs felt. 

Matsukawa shook his head. "This wasn't necessary." He stuck his hands underneath his robes, searching for something, and took out a tiny vial of moss-green liquid. Tapping Yahaba on the shoulder, he pressed it into his palm, folding his fingers around it. 

"Drink this, all at once. It's something I used to give Oiks when he overexerted himself. It'll soothe your throat and lungs."

Yahaba straightened, swallowing hard. 

"Uh..." Makki said, gesturing to his face. "You've got a little.. vomit on the corner of your mouth. Just a tiny bit."

“Thanks. Blood..” Yahaba said weakly, wiping his mouth. “Really doesn’t taste good.” 

As he downed the vial, he wouldn’t make eye contact with Oikawa. But Oikawa was done. He knew Yahaba had learned reality by now. 

Clamping a hand on his shoulder, he squeezed gently. 

“It’s okay. We’re all okay.” 

Yahaba turned away from him, a hand covering his eyes. “I know. Just…” 

His voice broke, and Oikawa rubbed his shuddering back. He couldn't remember the first time he'd killed someone using his Breath. Maybe that was for the best. It was different from the usual way, removed by distance, able to move on and not think about it. The sword killed, not you. Killing by Breathing brought the death back into you. 

He felt someone's eyes on him, and he turned to see Iwaizumi looking at him, a slight frown across his features. Their eyes met, and Iwaizumi bowed his head. There was nothing to say. 

"Here," Oikawa said quietly, beckoning to Iwaizumi. "I'll heal your shoulder."

"You sure you can handle it?" 

"Is it shallow?"

Iwaizumi nodded, and Oikawa inclined his head. "Get over here then." 

"Thanks," Iwaizumi replied, taking his hand away from his wound as he approached. 

Lifting his free hand, Oikawa held Iwaizumi's chin, and Iwaizumi gave a grunt. "I would've opened my mouth this time for you."

"I guess it's habit now," Oikawa told him, but he dropped his hand. Iwaizumi's eyes trailed after his hand for a heartbeat, then flicked back up to Oikawa's, and parted his lips. It took Oikawa a moment to gather his concentration enough to Breathe. 

Iwaizumi's eyebrows pinched up, but it was a superficial cut, and was over in a breath. Both of their eyes trailed over to Yahaba's back, still trembling. Matsukawa and Hanamaki traded gazes, but nothing came of it. There was no comfort. There was only the thin sound of Yahaba's suppressed sobs and the soft noise of Oikawa rubbing his back. 

Eventually, Yahaba straightened up, dragging his sleeve across his eyes. Iwaizumi stepped nearer to Yahaba, placing a hand on his upper arm. 

"I'm sorry," Iwaizumi said.

“It’s not your fault.” Yahaba inhaled. “I made the choice.”

Iwaizumi's gaze fell. "I shouldn't have even been in that situation in the first place. I'm sorry you had to suffer for it."

"It's fine," Yahaba sniffled, dabbing his nose in his sleeve. "As Oikawa-san said, we're all okay. That's what matters here." 

Iwaizumi ran his eyes over the battlefield, drinking in the destruction. 

“I.. fuck.”

He swayed sideways, and Matsukawa grabbed his arm. “You good?” 

“Yeah. Just… took a bit out of me,” Iwaizumi told him, and he careened towards Matsukawa, leaning on his shoulder. "Sorry."

“Don't worry about it, I know it takes time to get used to your white," Matsukawa replied, stooping to draw an arm around Iwaizumi's torso. "I’ll give you something to revive you once we’re inside. It’ll make you feel like shit after it wears off, but it’ll give you enough energy to make it away from here.” 

Matsukawa's brow furrowed, and his gaze passed over to Oikawa. "How are you not dying? You had to Breathe to calm him down, no?"

"My organs, much like myself, are stubborn and resilient," Oikawa announced, propping a hand on his hip. "I'm perfect."

"Hey, take Iwaizumi for a moment," Matsukawa asked Makki, who nodded, and Iwaizumi allowed himself to be supported by the taller man. Matsukawa vanished back into the cave for a trok, and came out with his weirdly-shaped sharp translucent ball thing. He gestured at Oikawa's torso. 

"Up, up."

"My my Mattsun, don't you think you might make Makki jealous?" Oikawa winked, brushing aside his robe and lifting up his shirt. 

Mattsun snorted, pressing the cold glass to his skin. "If anyone's jealous right now it's you."

Colouring, Oikawa heard Hanamaki huff out a chuckle, and it took all of Oikawa's will not to whip his gaze towards him and berate him for laughing. Iwaizumi kept quiet, and Oikawa didn't dare meet his eyes. Maybe he was so drained that he had missed it. 

“You’re okay,” Matsukawa said, after a moment. “Just about. Don’t Breathe when you know you’re going to pass out, or nearly pass out. Smaller tasks should be fine.” His forehead creased. “You should be much worse off, especially after calming Iwaizumi’s power like that.”

“Oh, well, look like I’m just that strong,” Oikawa chirped out, hoping his voice didn’t sound as heightened as he heard it. 

Giving him an odd look, Matsukawa handed a little jar to Iwaizumi. “That should help combat white fatigue.” 

Taking it, Iwaizumi popped open the top with this thumb, tipped his head backwards and drained it in one go. His nose furrowed up, and he spat on the ground, landing next to Hanamaki's feet, who grimaced. 

"That tasted disgusting," Iwaizumi said. "Oikawa, you used to drink that?"

"I was going to say drink only a little at a time," Matsukawa deadpanned. "We used to mash a few drops up in Oiks' food so he wouldn't notice."

"You drugged me?"

"For your own good," Hanamaki amended. 

"You drugged me without me knowing for  _ my own good?" _ Oikawa repeated, his brain just coming to terms with it. "How long was that going on for? Are you fucking seriously telling me that for years-"

He felt Iwaizumi's hand on his shoulder. "You can yell at them later. There's no time now."

Oikawa took a breath. Iwaizumi was right. He tried not to think about how he knew it was Iwaizumi's hand, from the weight, from the certain spots of the callouses, from the gentleness, without looking.

They went around, Makki and Mattsun hauling off branches that had fallen onto the sleeping villagers, and Oikawa and Yahaba healing whoever they could. Most were lucky, and the debris missed them when it fell. Some weren’t, and Oikawa couldn’t look past the guilt in Iwaizumi’s face. 

“I was stupid, wasn’t I?” Iwaizumi murmured. “I thought I could finish things quickly, before anyone else got injured.. but it was stupid.” 

Oikawa nodded, letting go of another limp jaw, knowing he was half-talking to himself. “Are you always like that?”

Iwaizumi glanced away. “I try to regulate myself. But you saw what happened. Here, and back at the cave.”

“These things happen,” Oikawa told him, straightening up. “We move on.” 

“And I never learn,” Iwaizumi muttered, his gaze still stuck to the littered grass. 

He walked away before Oikawa could think of anything to say, to which Oikawa was grateful for. 

They gathered their things in silence. Matsukawa had started another fire in his giant metal bowl and was tossing various items in, anything that could give the Osole an idea of his abilities or where they could be going. Undoubtedly, they would seek revenge for the murder of one of their number. The heat out of the room's centre was unbearable, Oikawa's shirt sticking to his back as he forced his snow-cloak to fit into his bag, dimly aware of Iwaizumi wiping sweat off his forehead with one easy sweep of his hand. Yahaba slung the bow Oikawa had made over his shoulder, his quiver hanging next to his bag of general belongings. Thanks to the fire, they had little left to transport, and even though Oikawa was glad to be rid of any donkey or horse, his back would feel the consequences. He wondered how Iwaizumi managed to wear his sword on his hip all the time, and put it down to core strength. 

“We need to go, and so do you," Matsukawa told them. "They’ll be waking up soon and we want to be as far away as humanly possible, especially when the Osole realise that one of their own is dead."

“Where are you going?” Oikawa asked. 

“Deeper into the mountains. Even Osole won’t dare go in after two stray magickers," Hanamaki answered, pulling the ropes of his bag together with a jerk. "And I know what you're thinking, they're dangerous, the deities are gonna fuck us up, etc., but we'll make it work."

"I-" The words jammed up Oikawa's throat. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For bringing this shit to you. Now you have to leave, and it was a really nice cave too. One of your finest caves in years."

A smile tugged at the edge of Matsukawa's mouth. "Damn right it was. But Oiks, did you see that Osole? There was no way she could've been summoned without notice. They already knew we were here, it was only a matter of time before Makki caused just a tad too much trouble in the village and she came for us. You only sped it up." 

"Still," Oikawa said. "I'm sorry for cutting your stay short." 

"Don't worry about it. Although it is nice to see proof that you've a conscience every now and then." Matsukawa grinned at him. "Aight, we're going to head into the passageway and hope it hasn't been blocked up by petty deities. See you guys around."

“Wait,” Iwaizumi said, stepping forwards and pulling up his sleeves to the elbow. 

He turned his bare forearms towards them, puckered scars dug into his skin. “If you ever need help, I will try my best to come to you. I swear."

Matsukawa frowned at him. "You don't have to do this."

"You really don't want to bind yourself to us," Hanamaki added. "We might need help opening a jar halfway across the Northern Dunes." 

"I can't let all of your aid be charity," Iwaizumi insisted, approaching closer, almost toe-to-toe with them. His jaw was set. "Even if you don't accept my oath, I promise to help you whenever I can."

Hanamaki sighed, laying a palm around one of his lower arms. "Fine, it's your choice to inevitably regret. Mattsun?"

Matsukawa's hand was hesitant, but he placed his palm on Iwaizumi's strong forearm, his fingers indenting Iwaizumi's skin. "With the Osole after us, your help might be needed sooner than expected."

Nodding, Iwaizumi’s skin darkened for a moment where their hands were in contact, and Hanamaki jerked his hand away. 

“What was that?”

“It’s bound by The Lady now,” Iwaizumi answered calmly, rolling down his sleeves. 

Matsukawa turned his hand over, peering at it. “So these are your weird cult powers? Maybe I should worship The Lady too and get lightning skin.” 

"It's not a -" Iwaizumi cut himself off with a sigh. "Yeah. I've got lightning skin. Be careful, okay? Since she was likely watching you two already, the blame will be on you."

"But she's dead. Surely they'll leave you alone now?" Yahaba piped up, and Oikawa shook his head. 

"That won't faze them. If anything, it'll encourage them to pursue them because they know they're dangerous and willing to kill. In their minds, they're protecting the people."

"How do you convince them you're not a threat?" Yahaba asked. 

Matsukawa snorted. "If they kill you without a problem. Then you're in the clear."

"Can't they be negotiated with first?"

"We tried," Hanamaki answered, shrugging. "They tried to murder us. We decided that it might be better to avoid them after that. On that topic, we're gonna go. Before they show up and try to murder us again, this time with a legitimate reason." 

Yahaba hugged both of them goodbye, and Iwaizumi simply gave them a manly nod. 

Oikawa followed the duo into the back bedroom, where he and Iwaizumi had stayed, to say goodbye. He still felt a weight on his chest, a guilt that couldn't be shaken off by thoughts alone. As he watched, Matsukawa pressed his palm into the rock wall, and the room shivered, a narrow little opening appearing. Hanamaki lifted a hand and started forwards, and Oikawa panicked. 

“I…” He began, and Makki and Mattsun turned to look at him. 

“Oh no,” Makki interrupted. “Don’t get all sentimental on us. We’ll be back, there’s no way possible you can get rid of us. Even if The Lady erased us from existence we’d still find you.”

“I owe you guys so much,” Oikawa continued anyways, and they all knew he wasn’t only referring to the immediate past. 

“Come here,” Mattsun told him, and before Oikawa knew it he was being hugged by two pairs of arms, squeezing him closely. “Don’t you fucking cry on us.” 

“Thank you,” Oikawa whispered over their shoulders, blinking hard. 

"Yeah, yeah, we know. We're the best," Hanamaki said, his face squashed between Oikawa's cheek and Mattsun's arm. "Good luck with Iwaizumi, by the way. He seems far too noble for your taste, but I'm not complaining."

Oikawa stiffened, and pulled away, eyes narrowing. "Thanks, but it doesn't matter. I don't intend on pursuing anything with him."

He got two dubious expressions and four lifted eyebrows in response, so he forged on. 

"You know how the others turned out," he reminded them, a little dry smile on his lips. "Iwa-chan deserves more than that." 

As he turned to leave, Matsukawa grabbed Oikawa by the arm. "He won't be like the rest. Don't lie to yourself and pretend everyone's the same."

"It doesn't matter if he's not like them, he'll end up like them." Oikawa gave him a warning, slow blink. "I resent you trying to force me to make a move. I can handle this on my own."

"You'll pull away at the last moment like you always do, and I'm sick of you coming crying back to us due to your own self-sabotage," Matsukawa said, and Oikawa had to bite down on his tongue. 

"I don't ruin things for myself," Oikawa snapped back. "Believe it or not, I don't enjoy having my lovers die. Makki, back me up on this." 

Hanamaki pressed his lips together, holding up his hands and stepping backwards. "I'm not involving myself in this."

Iwaizumi's voice echoed in from the main room. "Hey, Oikawa? You ready to go?"

"If you don't mind, I have to leave." Oikawa tore his arm from Matsukawa's fingers, narrowing his eyes. 

Matsukawa only sighed, nodding as his gaze drifted to the exit. "Make this time different, Oiks."

Oikawa's anger leeched away, reading the concern in Matsukawa's flat eyes. He shrugged, throwing his hands up in the air. "Who knows?" he spoke quickly, cheerfully. "We have more important things to do than each other anyways!"

"Mm. I'm sure that the stability of the kingdom is at the top of your list of priorities."

Oikawa's jaw clenched. "You really think I'd do all of this just for the chance to fuck someone? Your opinion of me is lower than I thought."

"I'm just saying, it's not like you care about this country. After all -"

"Oikawa? Where the fuck are you?"

Iwaizumi's voice sounded closer. 

"I'll see you sometime," Oikawa hastened, waving back at Matsukawa. “Thanks for the stay… and the advice.”

“You’re welcome. Now take it.” 

Oikawa scrunched up his nose. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Mysteries of life and all that. See you and good luck!” 

"Yeah," Hanamaki said. "Same to you. You'll need it a lot more than us."

One foot inside the doorway, Matsukawa extended his hand to Hanamaki, who slipped his fingers in between his, and they ducked under the curtain together, the darkness crawling up their robes. In the next moment, Iwaizumi wandered in and saw Oikawa staring at a blank wall, his thoughts unreadable. 

Iwaizumi put a hand on his shoulder, and Oikawa started. 

"You okay? Are you thinking about going with them or something?"

Oikawa appreciated Iwaizumi's attempt at tapping into his thoughts, but he could not have been further from the truth. He laughed, slipping off Iwaizumi's hand as he waved a hand back and forth. "I prize my sanity far too much to spend any sort of extended time with them." 

He hoped his gaze seemed a lot steadier than it felt, gliding over and past Iwaizumi, unable to fix on him for more than a moment. From Iwaizumi's frown, it didn't. 

"Alright. Yeah," Iwaizumi said, backing up and holding the curtain open for him. "You ready to go?"

Oikawa nodded, and stepped through. Despite the curiosity on Iwaizumi's face, his brows pinched with worry, Oikawa said nothing more. His gaze still didn't feel the same since he reclaimed his body. Maybe it was because Iwaizumi was Breath then, or maybe it was something else, something Oikawa had said wrong and fucked up again. 

It didn't matter, Oikawa told himself. It didn't matter if Iwaizumi regarded him with warmth or not. 

As he tucked away the last of his things into his pockets, it occurred to him, not for the first time, that he could leave. He could move past the guilt of allowing the heir to be taken. He could move past the guilt of only mostly training Yahaba. He'd dealt with worse guilt before. 

Pausing, Oikawa took a breath. 

He was sick of feeling guilty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that comments, it really, really pushes me to keep working on the story and give them the ending they deserve.   
> I hope everyone's keeping safe and well and I'll see you again in ten days :)


	7. Empathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [hands you oikawa angst] I'm sorry

Iwaizumi tore down the thin sliver of curtain by the entrance as they left, shoving it into his bag. As they picked their way through the stirring villagers, the stench of the Osole's flesh stuck like damp soil in Oikawa's nose, and he had to cover his lower face with his sleeve. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yahaba's face grow paler, his palm pressed over his nose too. 

"Where do you think the kid ran to?" Yahaba asked as they trudged through the forest. 

Oikawa felt no pressure in his head, and with a shiver he knew the forest had had its fill for the day. 

"This forest might have consumed him," Iwaizumi answered. "If he made it through, he probably ran back home. That's what I would do."

"We'll stop by on the way to check," Yahaba said, and Oikawa glanced at him. 

"Oh, so now you're a decision-maker of this group? What happened that made you the king?"

"Oikawa, leave him alone," Iwaizumi said tiredly. "It's more or less on our way, we can quickly make sure he and his mother are okay. We brought that shit to them, it's the least we can do."

Recalling the ash on the boy's face, Oikawa bit his lip. "Fine."

Oikawa led the way, weaving around the patches of moss the best he could, avoiding the concentrated patches of life. He thought that the moss were sated for now - even the dangling branches shuffled slower in the lazy breeze, the grooves of bark less sharp. 

Without warning, as they broke through the outer line of trees, after most of the day's travel, his lungs filled with the callous scent of ash, hot and smouldering. He coughed, earning a concerned glance from Iwaizumi. 

"What's wrong?"

"There's…" Oikawa passed the back of his hand over his nose. He hated having such acute senses sometimes. "There's been a fire nearby, a big one."

Yahaba frowned, looking out over the deserted village. "Everything looks fine, and I don't smell anything."

"It must be further away then," Iwaizumi concluded, and nodded past the village, towards where the boy's home was. "Is it coming from there?"

Oikawa squinted, but he could only see the hill looming on the horizon, as if it was peering into the neighbouring town. "I'm not sure. The wind could've blown the scent from elsewhere."

"Let's pray to the Lady that it did," Iwaizumi murmured, and began hiking down into the hollow of the village. 

The stench, thick and stifling around Oikawa's nose, only got stronger as they rounded the village, the hill never seeming to crawl any closer to them. Oikawa hated doing it, but he concentrated, securing his Breath down deep in his stomach, and the smell dulled, the air bearable to breathe in again. They trudged over the lower slope of the hill, and Yahaba gasped aloud beside him. 

"Holy _pleeth_ ," Iwaizumi cursed, and it summed up the scene in front of them well. 

Houses were burnt out, the last bits of embers shimmering in the middle of blackened beams. The cobbled streets were clogged over with ash and the grass ringing the village was browned, no more than dry husks swaying in the wind. 

Yahaba immediately began running up the hill, almost slipping on the long grass that tangled his ankles. Iwaizumi and Oikawa clambered up after him, his heart in his stomach. They already knew what they'd find. 

The broken corpse of a house lay there, the door down flat on the grass, everything else beyond it a lightly smoking heap of wood. 

"Shit…" Yahaba breathed out, bent over, his hands clenched around his knees. "Shit!"

Oikawa could see his feelings, so strong he could almost smell them. More than that, he knew what he felt. Breathers reached out to others more than any other magicker did, for wanting to help and knowing that they were able to. Because of this, they were threaded into far more lives, and that only brought more tragedy. 

"His mother could've escaped," Oikawa said, and Yahaba wiped across his face. 

"She wouldn't leave her child in the hands of those bastards if she was conscious," Yahaba answered, his voice wavering. 

Oikawa glanced across to Iwaizumi for help, but he was gazing out over the village at the foot of the hill, like a pile of coal crushed by a giant's foot. 

"It doesn't make sense," Iwaizumi began slowly, scratching the back of his neck. "Why would they torch their own village, and then come after Makki and Mattsun? Why take the boy hostage? Just to identify us to the people in the neighbouring village?"

"So… someone else attacked them, and they blamed us for it?" Yahaba theorised, and Oikawa scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"I would bet my life that that Osole woman set their houses on fire to raise them into a fury. She knew she couldn't take out all five of us, so she had to gather numbers, and before we moved on."

"She got greedy," Iwaizumi added. "She probably couldn't resist the temptation of taking down five of us at once. That'd give her a hell of a lot of respect in Osole circles."

"That's why she did this?" Yahaba repeated, picking up a burnt piece of wood, impossible to identify what it had been previous to the fire. "For respect? To kill us?"

"Probably. Doesn't it make you feel special?" Oikawa said, nudging Yahaba with his elbow. "Just for us, she destroyed a whole village." 

"Makes me feel shit," Yahaba muttered, flinging the piece back down into the rubble. "You're not helping either."

"Most of the people are okay," Oikawa reminded him. "They'll wake up, hopefully not remember what happened exactly thanks to Mattsun, and rebuild their homes." 

"But if Torem was still in power, the Osole wouldn't have fucking dared to do this," Iwaizumi cursed, bending down to examine the ash. He stood, the black dusting his fingers. "Now, there's no consequences. We have to re-establish order. Whatever the cost.” 

There was a ferocity to his words that bit at Oikawa's chest, pinching up his lungs. He heard Yahaba exhale beside him, then step forwards, up to Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Iwaizumi regarded him wordlessly, then glanced back at Oikawa. 

Chin lifted, Oikawa stayed silent. Then Iwaizumi wiped his hand on his trousers, leaving a black streak across his thigh, and forged back down the hill. 

They camped in the shell of the most intact house they could find that night, one beyond the village outskirts, but apparently hadn’t been spared either. It was a luxury compared to their usual situation, but there was something eerie built into the scent of charcoal, a disquieting of their breath. Oikawa rolled his shoulders, attempting to work out some of the tension in them. They were beginning to ache. It was decided that Yahaba should hunt for food, despite Iwaizumi's protests, both of them could see Matsukawa's fix wearing off, his energy dragging down his limbs and sinking into his slowing feet. Oikawa simply claimed that he was still injured from the shitty Breathing job Yahaba did, and Yahaba had the common sense to realise that arguing with him would take more energy than going by himself. 

It left Iwaizumi and Oikawa alone in the remnants of a home, collecting as many burnable sticks as possible, the ones not deadened utterly by fire. After a few troks, Oikawa glanced over, finding Iwaizumi examining the bones of the house, as if trying to imagine what it looked like before fire swallowed it up. His face was angled upwards, towards the shattered wall tops, his mouth downturned. The wind bashed against the cremated remains of the house, sending spots of dust floating down onto his skin. 

"This can't happen again." he murmured, dropping his face and wiping off the ash. "We need to return to the Form as soon as possible."

Oikawa hesitated, a protest heavy on his tongue. It felt like bitter lead. 

"What?"

"I just… can't we find the heir on our own?"

Iwaizumi frowned, spreading his cloak out on the ground. "Infiltrating the castle with only the two of us?"

"I know it sounds stupid, but…"

Oikawa's breath died. He didn't know why he had an uneasy feeling, but he did. He didn't like trusting others to do their job, even if they were all like Iwaizumi. In his experience, it had never worked out well. 

He didn't say any of this to Iwaizumi. Oikawa turned away from him, shrugging. "On second thoughts, forget I said anything. I could probably get in on my own, but the more people there, the less my chances are of getting captured."

He heard Iwaizumi sigh beside him, sitting onto his cloak. "Look, I understand you don't want to trust an organisation you don't know, but they're all good people, alright? Our chances are better in a team than alone."

"Exactly what I said," Oikawa assured him. "But what's going to happen when we get the heir back? We can't put a baby in charge of the kingdom, and we need someone who the people know and respect. A magicker is out of the question - we'd have a revolt on our hands."

“The Form will handle that. We’ve worked with many kings before Torem and we have respected advisors amongst us.” 

"Like who?"

"Akaashi Keiji, for one."

Oikawa whistled. "Should you really be revealing the names of members like that to me, Iwa-chan?"

"You asked."

"There's always no."

"I'll remember that in the future when you ask me something and then complain that I didn't answer you."

"It's more fun that way."

"For you, maybe. All I get out of it is a headache," Iwaizumi grumbled, stretching his arms up over his head with a heavy exhale. "I need a beer. Not having a body gives you appreciation for things.” He gave Oikawa a sideways glance. “Silence, for example.” 

"The sound of my voice is much better than silence. It's like a thousand angels singing in harmony," Oikawa boasted, throwing a crumbling beam on the fire, sending sparks into the air. 

Iwaizumi actually had the nerve to laugh at him, free and full. "I thought you were delusional the first time we met, and every time you open your mouth I get proven right." 

Oikawa’s chest felt like his Breath was trembling, Iwaizumi’s laugh replaying over and over, bouncing around in his skull until it was carved into his memory. He looked away, mouth dry of any smart retorts. Time to change the subject. 

“I’ve been thinking about your powers,” Oikawa mentioned. 

“Why?”

“Because you don’t fit into any category I’ve ever read about or seen. You can create winds and destroy things near or far away.”

“Does it really matter?”

“If you want to understand your powers fully it does,” Oikawa stated. “I think you’re a _duogenus_. Like Yahaba. A Bricker and a Fracturer.” 

“As in…?”

“Aren't the names self-explanatory? Or are you really that dim-brained?” 

Under Iwaizumi's hard stare, Oikawa relented. "Fine. You know a Bricker can push objects without Breath, and a Fracturer can usually touch something and have it disintegrate in an instant. Whether they can destroy living things or not depends."

"So the wind I make, I'm pushing air around?"

Oikawa inclined his head. "That's common enough. But I also think it means that you can push your fracturing to other places as well. Do you.." he hesitated. "When you killed those people that murdered your granny, can you remember what the wounds look like? Were they slashes or cracks?"

He noticed Iwaizumi's shoulders tense. "I can't say I looked too closely at them," he started, gaze removed from the present. "But there were a lot of wounds, not just one."

Oikawa nodded. "Sounds like a Fracturer's doing. The way the rock cracked in the cave around you, the way the ground and trees broke, are all characteristic of one. I think you’re a blend of both, maybe able to fracture things far away from you but not necessarily what you touch. You only lack control over it."

"Hm." Iwaizumi stared into the fire, brow low. "And if I learn control?"

"You could destroy anything in your sight," Oikawa said softly. 

"Fucking hell," Iwaizumi murmured. He folded his knees up to his chest, resting his forearms on them. 

“Yeah.” 

Oikawa didn't know what to say after that. 

"I'm not sure I wanted to know that," Iwaizumi mumbled, half to himself. 

Oikawa forced a smile onto his face, spreading his hands. "Well, as the bearer of the good news, congratulations! You can now become the sole ruler of any land you wish!"

Iwaizumi's gaze ghosted over to him, and Oikawa was struck by the sheer weariness in his eyes. 

"Well… if you want to," Oikawa amended, and Iwaizumi chuckled lightly. 

"I think you know the answer to that."

He leaned back, stretching out his legs, boots just shy of the firepit. 

"I don't know," Oikawa remarked, skimming his gaze over the length of Iwaizumi's body. "I can see you as a warlord, putting people on spikes and warlordy stuff like that." 

Frowning, Iwaizumi rolled onto his side, head propped up on his elbow. "What makes you say that?"

"Aside from the knowledge that I'd be the first person up on a spike?"

Snorting, Iwaizumi's shoulders moved in a silent laugh. "Yeah, aside from that. Although I can think of a good few others that would be in line before you. So no worries."

Oikawa felt a smile curve up his lips. "Now I'm even more worried."

“You shouldn’t be,” Iwaizumi reassured him, returning the smile. Maybe it was the low light from the fire, or maybe it was the contrast between Iwaizumi’s usual mildly irritated expression, but it hit Oikawa harder than it should’ve. 

Oikawa had to furl up his hands to hide the trembling. He smiled back.

Holding his gaze, Iwaizumi reached out towards Oikawa, brows drawn together. A moment before his fingertips touched his neck, Oikawa flinched back, and focus snapped back into Iwaizumi’s eyes. He dropped his hand. 

“Ah.. My mind was years away. Sorry, Oikawa,” he apologised, scratching the back of his neck, eyes stuck to the campfire. “Your neck looks sore. Didn’t Mattsun give you something for the bruises?” 

Oikawa’s fingers skimmed the side of his tender neck, where he suspected purple bruising was blooming on the shape of a murderous hand. He tried not to think about what Iwaizumi's fingertips would feel like grazing down his neck.

“I don’t think he had anything for bruises,” he replied, and Iwaizumi gave him a dubious stare.

“He had a potion to help ease Yahaba’s throat, one to help revitalise me, and not one for something as common as bruising? Even I know some basic herbs that would help with it.” 

Oikawa shrugged, adjusting his cloak to cover the marks. “They probably didn’t show up until now. And with everything else happening, do you really blame me for forgetting that I was choked?”

“It tends to be something that sticks in your memory,” Iwaizumi pointed out. “I can remember the first time I got choked.”

“I don’t want to know your sexual history,” Oikawa told him. “I didn’t survive near-strangulation to be subjected to that.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth. “My sexual history is a joy to hear.” 

“By the gods, no!” Oikawa gagged, shuffling away from Iwaizumi. “I’d rather hear Yahaba drone on about tree species for hours than that.” 

Iwaizumi snorted, tossing a half-burnt stick over to Oikawa. “It’s not a big deal. We’re both fully-grown men, are we not?” 

“Knowing when to be private and keep details to yourself is a sign of maturity,” Oikawa argued back, picking up the stick and flinging it into the fire. 

"As if you know anything about maturity-"

Their argument was cut short by the creaking of the door. 

Yahaba walked back in, his bow slung around his back, and dumped a furry animal on a flat rock, a hole pierced through his neck. 

"I don't think I'm hungry any more," Oikawa pointed out. "After that wait, that is."

"The fires scared every animal away," Yahaba defended himself. "You're lucky that I managed to find this one."

"He doesn't mean that," Iwaizumi told Yahaba, kneeling beside the rock. "Thanks for the food. Oikawa, can I borrow one of your daggers?"

Oikawa passed him over a knife and Iwaizumi got to work, cutting a circle around the feet and slashing off the skin. The firelight shuddered against his face, softening the sharp curve of his cheeks, transforming his sallow skin into the same shade Oikawa saw in gold-woven dresses from the North. Iwaizumi sucked in his lower lip when he was concentrating, his strong hands moving deftly across the raw flesh, one finger extended down the flat of the blade to steady it. Folding his arms across his knees, Oikawa propped his face on his forearms, watching how the shadows scattered across his upper cheeks by how his eyelashes sifted, by the focus of his eyes, by how he angled his head when tackling a tricky bit. 

He glanced away after far too long, and found Yahaba looking at him, a small smirk stretched across his lips. Scowling, Oikawa drew his thumb across his throat, to which Yahaba silently laughed at, nodding his head. 

His neck heating up, Oikawa stood. "My dear, precious student Yahaba, I think it's time for some more exercises."

Groaning, Yahaba leaned his head back, face upturned towards the stars. "Now? But we've already done two sets today when walking."

"It's an extra special treat for you. We're not doing repetitive exercises this time." Oikawa clapped his hands together. "Solidify your Breath for me and we'll see what we're working with." 

Yahaba shook his head. “I can’t.”

Cocking his head to the side, Oikawa spoke softly. “Well, you clearly can.”

“I can’t, Oikawa-san. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I learned to Breathe to heal people, not kill them. I know too many ways to kill already.”

Oikawa dropped his hands. He could see Iwaizumi stop his work, watching their conversion. “And yet you chose to use your Breath to kill that Osole.”

“I had nothing else.”

“And you don’t think that that situation will happen again?”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t use it.” 

Oikawa sighed, lowering his head. “Then I have nothing more to teach you."

Yahaba started forwards, his hands rising. "What? Why?"

"If you don't want to perfect how to sharpen your solid Breath instead of that clumsy hole-punch you did back there, that's it. You need healing practice and nothing else." 

Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest, and Iwaizumi frowned. "Oikawa, surely -"

"Not a word from you," Oikawa said. "You gave up training Kyoutani ages ago."

"I didn't exactly have a choice -"

Oikawa put up a single finger, eyes still on Yahaba. 

"What do you say?"

"What do you mean, what do I say?" Yahaba's voice was on the verge of cracking, and he leaned forwards, his hands trembling. "You won't listen to me. It doesn’t matter what I say.” 

"Hm. Maybe you've actually learned something in our time together," Oikawa said starkly, turning away and sitting back down. "Is there a stream nearby? I have to try and get that stupid man's blood out of my good robe."

He saw Iwaizumi shake his head out of the corner of his eye, watching as Yahaba stood still for a few moments. 

"We'll look for somewhere tomorrow," Iwaizumi spoke, breaking the silence. 

Oikawa sniffed. "Alright. But if it's permanently stained you owe me the coin for a new one. You dragged me out there, after all."

Iwaizumi sighed. "Oikawa, I know you're not serious but now isn't the time -"

"Who said I wasn't being serious?" 

Yahaba threw his hands up in the air, kicking a fallen roof beam. 

"You're insufferable! I can handle your training - but _this_ ? Your personality is so _shit!_ It was a good thing you did, going out to save that boy, and you insist on acting like it wasn't your choice! You know I don't want to use my Breath to kill people and yet you're still trying to force me to do what you want?"

"I can't have you thinking I'm a good person," Oikawa told him, careful to keep his expression neutral as he turned his cold gaze to him. "I'll only disappoint you."

Yahaba's lower lip trembled - whether it was rage or frustration or sorrow, Oikawa couldn't tell. With a huff, Yahaba spun around and stalked out of the house. Iwaizumi rose to his feet, but Oikawa held out a hand. 

"Leave him. He'll have a tantrum and get over it."

"No. I think he needs to talk to someone right now," Iwaizumi answered, standing up and looking down at Oikawa. "Or at the very least, vent about his horrible mentor."

Oikawa exhaled. "You don't have to rub it in, Iwa-chan." He turned his head, attempting to smile at him, but Iwaizumi was already halfway out the door, back rotated towards him. 

Oikawa rubbed a hand over his face, Yahaba’s expression after the Osole woman fell burning up his mind. He cast his mind back, probing, trying to remember the first time he killed the way Yahaba had. But he came up empty - all he could grasp onto was the hollow resignation of that was how it had to be, this was how it had to be. 

He took up the dagger and finished skinning the raq. 

"Oh fuck, is that an inn?" 

Iwaizumi instantly began veering towards the house, red-trimmed with a lopsided sign, "The Flyer's Rest" carved into it, splashed with green paint. 

"What happened to 'we have to find the heir as quickly as possible?'" Oikawa queried with raised eyebrows. 

"We can't move quickly if we're exhausted. It's almost sundown, anyways - we'd be camping soon for the night."

Looking up to the darkening sky, purple streaking across the closed-branched trees, Oikawa couldn't fault his logic. He glanced across to Yahaba to see his thoughts, but Yahaba was still avoiding his eyes, as he had been all day. Despite Oikawa’s attempts to create a conversation, Yahaba responded with one word, if he responded at all. Oikawa hadn’t missed the glances Iwaizumi threw over his way either, but to his relief, he didn’t try to interfere. 

“I’ll go see if they have a room free,” Yahaba said, exchanging a look with Iwaizumi so obvious Oikawa wanted to mock them for it. 

“I’ll come with you,” he added, and the worry on Yahaba’s face was worth it. 

"Oikawa, wait a moment,” Iwaizumi called out, nodding to Yahaba. 

Oikawa padded over, dumping his bag by his feet and rotating his stiff shoulder. “You should work on subtlety a bit more, Iwa-chan. I know this is about Yahaba.” 

"It is. I wasn't going to get involved, and I have no interest in mediating or whatever. I just want to know why in the Lady's name are you so hard on Yahaba?"

Oikawa sighed, linking his hands together behind his head. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, being the worse mentor, but what I'm doing is necessary. No Breather wants someone else's blood in their mouth, obviously. We learn out of a need to protect ourselves and nothing else."

He tilted his head to the side. "Apart from a few little murderous incidents. But let's not discuss those."

"Then explain it to him," Iwaizumi pushed, gaze travelling past Oikawa. "He's confused and frustrated, and you're doing nothing to help that."

Oikawa folded his arms across his chest. "When he chooses to learn how to Breathe properly and help himself, I will."

Iwaizumi gave him a long stare. "You're suspending his whole training over one little disagreement?"

Oikawa felt his lips tighten, memories drifting to the surface of his mind. "Do you know how many people died because I was too fucking precious to learn that? He has to know it, or the same will happen to him."

Dropping his head, Iwaizumi ran a hand back through his hair, little tufts spiking up even more. "Okay. Okay, I understand, but you can't force him to learn it."

"I can do everything in my power to," Oikawa defended. "I meant what I said. I'm not mentoring him until he agrees."

Iwaizumi stepped closer, touching Oikawa's elbow. "I know you want him to survive, but would it really be that hard to be a little gentler on him?"

He continued on past Oikawa without waiting for an answer. With a sigh, and a heartbeat pulsing far too fast, Oikawa picked up his bag again and followed him to the inn. 

Yahaba was ready to greet them inside the door with a wide smile. 

“We’re in luck. They’ve got a room free.” 

“Don’t tell me,” Oikawa theorised dryly. “They only have a double bed left for us.” 

Looking around, nothing in particular struck him - one person rested behind a tarnished large desk, oil lamps burning away on either side, creating intersecting circles on the ceiling. A dark wood door to their right stood half-open, a key lingering in the lock. Through the crack, Oikawa heard the dimmed rumble of voices, a little creaking thunder of stools scraping. 

Yahaba shrugged. “I didn’t get that far. We’ll find out in a bit, but I’d pity Iwaizumi-san if he had to spend one more night in the same bed as you.” 

Iwaizumi snorted, slapping Yahaba on the back as he went by. “Respect your elders, Yahaba. Despite his immaturity, Oikawa counts too.” 

“Yes, Iwaizumi-san.” 

As soon as Iwaizumi turned his back, Oikawa stuck out his tongue at Yahaba. 

“That’s right. Respect me, you young imbecile.” 

To his surprise, Yahaba didn’t ignore him, solemnly shaking his head. “You make it very hard, Oikawa-san. It goes without saying that I say this with the utmost respect for you.” 

Hearing, Iwaizumi reached back and pinched Yahaba’s ear. 

“I said it with respect!” Yahaba protested, half-bent over. “I swear, I wasn’t being sarcastic!” 

Releasing his ear, Iwaizumi huffed out a breath. “Doesn’t matter. You’re right. He does make it hard.”

Oikawa glared at Iwaizumi. “Why are you both bullying me?” 

They were yanked out of their glowering by a loud bang. Oikawa’s head whipped over to the desk, where the receptionist had one hand against their cheek, watching all of this with a dull amusement. The other was flat on the table. 

“Are you three going to take a room or block up my doorway all night?” 

“Yeah, we want to stay. Give me a trok,” Iwaizumi replied, hands searching for his coin purse. 

"Why are you still open?" Oikawa asked. "Aren't you afraid of bandit attacks?"

"We are, but we're one of the last inns around," the receptionist explained. "With everyone fleeing, it leads to good business. But as soon as the bulk of the people pass, we'll be leaving too."

"But where will you go?" Iwaizumi asked. "The Northerners aren't too welcoming to newcomers, and Torem was at war with the Westlands for years before the peace treaty. Do you really think they'll accept his people?"

They shrugged. "No other choice, is there? Hardly gonna go South. Some are moving closer to the kingdom's centre, hoping they'll be protected there. I think they're idiots, but it's their funeral."

Iwaizumi exchanged a quick glance with Oikawa. "Why do they think they'll be protected there?"

"Sure you didn't hear of the harkers? New king or whoever's on that throne has been sending them around to all of the towns to encourage people to settle into the lands around the castle. Calls it ‘Unity’ or some shite like that. Sounds too good to be true if you ask me, but it's giving people hope, and me money, so it's working out."

“Good for them, I guess,” Iwaizumi said, dropping some coins on the table. "Do you've three beds free?"

“Three separate beds,” Oikawa clarified. "All one-person." 

“Same room good?”

Oikawa looked over at Iwaizumi, who nodded. “Yeah. Yahaba?"

"Fine by me. Anything but sharing a bed with Hanamaki-senpai again."

Oikawa wasn’t sure if he felt excitement or dread. Staying in close quarters with Iwaizumi would make it all the harder to reject him, even if he tried something. The innkeeper counted the coins. 

"Seventeen more drogs."

Iwaizumi lifted his eyebrows. "I gave you the standard fare."

They shrugged again, holding out their hand as they slipped the other coins into their robes. "You're welcome to go to another inn."

Resting his forearm on the desk, Iwaizumi scowled, leaning in. "In that case, I'd like my coin back. I'd rather sleep outside than sleep in a filthy robb-"

"Would you do eight?" Oikawa suggested, touching Iwaizumi's shoulder. "Let's make it a nice round fifty, will we?"

Their gaze travelling from Oikawa's easy smile to Iwaizumi's clenched fist, they nodded. "Let's have it then."

Oikawa gave Iwaizumi a hard stare as he dropped the remaining coin into the innkeeper's hand, to which Iwaizumi glared back. 

"We don't know when we'll next have access to a bed," Oikawa murmured to him as they walked away, the innkeeper jingling their coins in the bag. "As you said, we need rest and decent food. We're no use to anyone if we collapse." Oikawa paused, reconsidering. "I take that back. You'd be useless. I'd be a fine decoration."

"I would've gotten them to drop the price," Iwaizumi muttered back, passing through the common area, a bar plastered against one wall, as if designed as an afterthought. "Or I would've shoved those seventeen drogs up their ass." 

Oikawa patted Iwaizumi's back, allowing his hand to rest between his shoulderblades, steering him through the stifling packs of people. As they wove through the many circular wooden tables and stools strewn seemingly at chaos' whim, Iwaizumi made no motion to shake Oikawa's hand off, Yahaba following closely behind. Oikawa caught sight of the bartender scanning them up and down, a slight frown just noticeable through a thick beard, his hands barely able to fit into a mug to wipe it off. His eyes were deep and crinkled, and Oikawa glanced away a moment before their eyes met. 

They deposited their meagre things in the room, and Yahaba flung himself forwards onto the nearest bed, groaning into the mattress. 

"Finally, a bed to myself," he mumbled, face pressed straight into the sheets. "No hairy men, no roaches, no twigs, just me." 

Oikawa saw Iwaizumi smile, bopping Yahaba on the head as he walked to the next bed, unstrapping his belt, tossing his sword onto the sheets. As he stripped off the rest of his leather armour, the lower back of his shirt was dark, and it crossed his mind how heavy carrying a sword - a falchion, Oikawa thought - must be all the time. 

"Alright," Iwaizumi announced, weighing up his coin purse in his hand. "I'm gonna go get a drink downstairs. I haven't had a beer since I died."

"Okay, try not to shove money up anyone's butt," Oikawa advised him, waggling a finger. "We need it."

"No promises," Iwaizumi replied, and walked out. 

"Oikawa-san."

"Mm?" Oikawa hummed, forearm slung over his eyes, spread out on his bed. His feet ached, his shoulders were sore, his back throbbed anytime he bent over and on top of that, his stomach wound still gave a painful wrench every time he twisted too fast. He was ready to fucking pass out. 

"Did you mean it when you said that you have no more to teach me?"

Exhaling, Oikawa closed his eyes. He had tried to push Iwaizumi’s advice out of his skull but it stuck, clinging on like a poisonous vine. He supposed if he tried it and it didn’t work he could always rub it in his face… 

"I was hoping that would push you into learning how to use your Breath better," Oikawa admitted.

"You mean to kill."

"Thought that was obvious, but thanks for clarifying, Yahaba-kun."

Yahaba flushed. "But is it true?"

Oikawa thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. I can teach you Breather language, a few more incantations, a handful of rarer techniques for certain scenarios. The rest will be practice.”

Yahaba went quiet. “I hope you understand why I don’t want to learn.” 

Oikawa sat up. 

“But you don’t necessarily have to use it if you learn it. You can still rely on your bow and shifting, but there will be a time where you have to use it or someone will die. It might be yourself, or someone you love, but if you don’t have the option, they’re going to die.” 

Oikawa pulled down his collar. “I would’ve died if I couldn’t use it.” 

Yahaba’s eyes traced the dark, mottling bruises.

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Reconsider quickly,” Oikawa told him, releasing his collar. “We only have a few days' journey left until we reach Flightless, then the Form, and who the fuck knows what’ll happen then. I heard from Iwa-chan that they’re not too keen on magickers.”

Yahaba sighed deeply. "It seems nobody is."

"Another reason for you to learn how to defend yourself."

"You mean another reason for ordinary people to fear me."

"They'll fear you anyways. Charm and charisma can only get you so far - take me, for example." Oikawa directed a smile at him. "I'm radiant. But I still would've died many times if I hadn't learned some sort of combat."

"And I have."

"How many arrows have you left in that quiver of yours?"

Yahaba ducked his head. "Enough."

Rolling his eyes, Oikawa began combing out his hair. "Think about it. I may be the epitome of patience, but I’m sick of having the same conversation with you. I won’t teach you any more if you continue to pick and choose what you want to know. It doesn’t work that way.” 

"I can make more arrows with my shifting," Yahaba protested, and Oikawa gave him a dead stare.

"Yeah, after what? Thirty troks, is that it? You think you've got that sort of time to waste in battle?" 

Grimacing, Yahaba dropped his forehead back onto the bed. "I'll think about it," he repeated, but there was defeat carried in his voice, a resignation Oikawa got no pleasure from hearing, no sense of victory. Sighing, Oikawa put down his comb and sat beside Yahaba, squeezing his shoulder for a trok. 

"I know you're right." Yahaba's voice was leaden, muffled by the sheets. "I just don't want you to be." 

Oikawa rose, shrugging to himself. "You'll get used to it." He continued combing out his hair, and Yahaba didn't respond. 

"Oikawa-san, when Iwaizumi-san died, you mentioned something about… your outburst," Yahaba said, breaking their silence. 

Oikawa's chest tightened. "Do you ever stop thinking?" He asked, turning around and tilting his head at Yahaba as he gathered up his hair behind his neck. "That might be dangerous for you."

Yahaba only shook his head. "I have great respect for you, even after everything. You're the strongest Breather I know, but you seem set on everyone hating you. Is it because - did something happen?"

Oikawa lifted his arms, tying a string around his hair in a low ponytail. "It's not as if my experiences are special. We've all had friends die. The difference is, I could have done something." His voice softened. "If I had trained a little harder, I might've been good enough to save some of them."

Yahaba blinked. "I'm sorry to hear that, Oikawa-san. I hadn't realised…"

"It's fine, it's fine," Oikawa waved a hand in the air, as if his throat wasn't being throttled by memories. "I suppose you do deserve some sort of an explanation after the hard time I gave you. but Yahaba-kun, to my credit, you've gotten much stronger. I daresay you could even survive on your own for a few weeks."

He offered Yahaba a double-edged smile, and Yahaba returned in kind, a knowing smile. "I know, Oikawa-san. You don't have to tell me. Does being such an asshole come naturally to you?"

"Hey," Oikawa snapped out. "Does being a rude little _qaswo_ come naturally to you?"

"It does," Yahaba replied. "You trained me well." 

Oikawa exhaled, tucking his legs up underneath him, settling his shoulders back. "I wanted to make it clear to you that Breathing isn't a miraculous solution to all death and disease. We can't heal chronic sickness, or rots of the mind. We can only temporarily relieve their pain. I don't want you using it carelessly, because that's how you die."

"Yes, you've made that very clear to me," Yahaba answered, a little smile on his lips. "You know, the dramatic effect wears off when you repeat yourself like that."

"It's not supposed to be dramatic, it's supposed to be an important point you remember!" Oikawa protested. "But if you won't appreciate my teachings, I'm going to practice on my own. Good night."

"Sulk, you mean?"

"No." 

He set his back against the wall at the top of the bed, and he could see Yahaba elevate his head, observing him with a thoughtful expression. 

"I know I'm gorgeous, but please, it's not appropriate for a student to stare at their teacher like that," Oikawa said, glancing over from his meditation, pulling his Breath back into him. 

Yahaba snickered, bringing himself up to rest on his elbows. "Actually, I was going to ask if you'll be joining him downstairs."

Squinting at him, Oikawa shifted, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "I think he's had enough of me for one day, don't you think?"

"I really don't think so. And somehow, I don't think you've had enough of him either." Yahaba smirked, his eyes dancing. 

Oikawa shook his head, pacing the length of the room. "I - I don't think that." He stopped, inhaling deeply. Shit, why the fuck was he stuttering? To delay, he edged the window open, enjoying the uplift of cool air after the stuffiness of the bar. 

"I appreciate your good intentions," he told Yahaba, with a slight smile that felt stiff. "But it would be even more appreciated if you kept your nose out of my personal life."

"Why?" Yahaba asked, all innocent with his fucking head tilt and wide hazel eyes. "I think you two would make a good couple. _Kilra,_ even. I can see it happening."

Oikawa felt his smile melt. "Yahaba, please. Let it go."

Brow creasing, Yahaba stared at him for a trok. "I think that's the only time you've ever said please to me."

“And it’ll be the last if you don’t drop it.” 

“Why?” 

Oikawa tilted his head, his hands resting on his hips. 

“How’s that hot little ferqol-boy from the North doing?” 

Yahaba started, his cheeks reddening. “He’s - I wouldn’t know.” He scratched his arm. “I am looking forwards to seeing him again.” 

“It didn’t feel good, did it, me enquiring into your personal business?”

“Actually, it made a change. Made me feel like you care about -“

“It didn't. Exactly,” Oikawa cut across him. “So Yahaba-kun, I’m drawing a line here. Kindly stick to it.”

Yahaba had the nerve to roll his eyes at him, but he settled down again. "If you say so, Oikawa-san."

They fell back into silence. 

But the conversation had reminded Oikawa of Matsukawa's comments, how he had mentioned he spoke to Iwaizumi about him. And apparently Iwaizumi was willing to give him a chance… Oikawa blocked out the thought, quelled the hope that rose in him. He dredged up the pictures always at the forefront of his mind instead, of faces dear to him bloody and bashed, some so mutilated he couldn't remember them smiling, uncut and untouched. Time had made him complacent. How long had it been since his last serious lover? Three years, five years? Oikawa could no longer put an exact number on it, no longer recall the time when he had trusted someone more than himself. He had allowed himself to slip into old habits, softened by the presence of constant companions, forgotten that they never lasted. 

"Oikawa-san?"

Oikawa opened his eyes. "Nothing, Yahaba-kun."

Although Yahaba frowned at the boyish version of his name, Oikawa offered him a breezy grin, discarding his heavy robes and slinging them onto his bed. "You know what? I think I'm going to go downstairs and have a drink with Iwa-chan. It's a great way for team bonding, after all! But you stay here, okay? Later!"

Oikawa darted past Yahaba and out the door before he heard any more than a confused "Uh - okay?" leave Yahaba's lips. 

The common room was stuffed with browns and greys. Oikawa's clean white shirt attracted many more gazes than he'd have liked, but it was tailor-made and he refused to change into a shitty, scratchy one. Holding his breath, he squeezed past chairs with any sort of manageable space between them, grimacing as the dirt clinging to the wooden backs stuck to his pants. Slinging a glimpse around the room, his eyes caught on a worn “No dogs, no bandits, no magickers” sign behind the bar, almost the same colour as the wall behind it. Oikawa swallowed, diverting his gaze. Where the fuck was Iwa-chan? 

After a few more moments of wrangling his way past patrons, he spotted Iwaizumi leaning back against the wall, sitting at a narrow table wedged in the corner. He was alone with his beer, and Oikawa hated the spike of cool relief in his chest. Iwaizumi was too handsome to be unapproached for long in a room packed full of people. 

Oikawa slid into the seat opposite Iwaizumi, whose eyes flicked over him, behind him. A pang hit Oikawa's chest, reminding him that, despite Iwaizumi tolerating his touches, it didn't mean anything. The same lingering wasn't there. The longing in Oikawa’s chest wasn’t mutual. 

“Where’s Yahaba?” Iwaizumi asked, and Oikawa waved a hand in dismissal. 

“Doing exercises. Just because he went through a bit of trauma doesn’t mean I’ll give him a break from his training.” 

"Shouldn't you be there?"

Oikawa shook his head. "Somehow, I think he needs time alone to sort out his thoughts. He doesn't need me yelling at him right now. And… " Oikawa swallowed. "I might've been too hard on him earlier. Killing someone for the first time can't be easy."

"Huh."

"Yes, I know. I can be so thoughtful and sensitive at times."

"Not exactly what I meant, but sure." Iwaizumi took a drink, and Oikawa's shoulders rose as he sucked in a breath. 

"Mattsun mentioned he spoke to you."

Iwaizumi propped his head up on his hand, cheek against his palm. "Yeah. Many times. I think we even had multiple conversations." 

A smile curved around his full lips, and Oikawa forged on with a thudding heartbeat. 

"I mean about me."

Iwaizumi tilted his head, smile dropping. "Oh, that one. What about it?"

There was a slight lilt to his voice, a knowing undertone that stole Oikawa's breath, feeling a shiver snake into his spine. It was accompanied by fear striking the pits of his stomach. He couldn't allow this to happen, couldn't let Iwaizumi's teasing voice get to him any more. He needed to cut this off before it bloomed.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about. Disregard whatever came out of his shitty big mouth, okay?"

Sitting back, Iwaizumi frowned, stare dropping down into his cup. "But…" 

He trailed off, and Oikawa could think of nothing to fill in the silence. Iwaizumi eventually lifted his head again with a shrug, not quite meeting Oikawa’s eyes.

"Alright."

"What were you going to say?"

Shaking his head, Iwaizumi raised the drink to his lips, speaking from behind the glass. "Nothing important."

“That doesn’t normally stop you from speaking.” 

Dropping the mug, Iwaizumi scowled at him. His hand tightened around the handle. “Something just feels like it’s missing, alright? I can’t tell you what it is if I don’t know it myself.” 

"Do you think it'll stop you from getting the heir back?" Oikawa asked. He couldn't afford to let the conversation slip away from him, slip from familiar territory into more. 

Iwaizumi shifted in his seat, the cleft between his thick eyebrows deepening. "I don't think so."

"Then does it matter?"

Looking up, Iwaizumi met Oikawa's gaze. "I guess not."

His eyes, shadowed by the dimness of the tavern, were only illuminated by the candle on the table, but Oikawa could still see the peculiar shade of green leak through. Oikawa's neck grew warm, his skin scratching against the underside of his shirt. Iwaizumi drummed his fingers against the hard table, and Oikawa pulled his gaze away, watching how the rhythm of his hands, lined and worn, moved. 

"Do you think we can beat her?"

"Hm?"

Distracted, Oikawa took a moment to look at Iwaizumi's eyes again. It didn't matter - the delay flew past him, eyes were fixed on a point somewhere behind Oikawa. 

"I mean," Iwaizumi began, "She already killed me once, and your Breath couldn't kill her either. I've never encountered someone who appears immortal before. I have no idea how to begin to kill her. Last time, I couldn't even fight her."

His voice deflated, frustration weaving through it. "I was useless. I gave you a tough time about letting her take the heir, but the truth is I was just as much to blame."

His fingers stilled on the table, and he drank, Oikawa drawing his arms around himself. 

"Maybe it's for the best that she took him," Oikawa said quietly, as the bottom of Iwaizumi's glass hit the table. "I wouldn't still be here if she didn't. I planned to leave as soon as you found somewhere stable, where you could take care of him and he could grow up."

Under the weight of Iwaizumi's gaze, he felt his fingers dig into his upper arms, and he inhaled. "But that's beside the point. I think she might be a Breathtaker."

Leaning forwards, Iwaizumi frowned, pushing the candle to the side so he could rest his forearms on the table. "What? I've never heard of that type of magicker before."

"I've never met one," Oikawa said, trying not to concentrate on how close Iwaizumi's hands were to his. "But I've read about people who can steal Breath for short amounts of time - the catch is that their bodies begin heating up as soon as they have two Breaths, so much that they burn themselves up. They've never been able to kill another person that way unless they wish to kill themselves as well." 

Shaking his head, Iwaizumi sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "It can't be her then. She could be using others' Breaths to heal herself, but there was nobody nearby but us, and we all have ours. And she can't store them without burning up, right?"

Oikawa nodded. "I didn't say I was right, it was only a theory. It's better than whatever you have."

Iwaizumi huffed. "I got nothing."

Oikawa felt a smile tug on his lips. "Exactly my point."

As Oikawa gazed at Iwaizumi, he swore he could see the others behind him, beautiful, flickering, dead memories painted on the worn wall. Seeing him staring, Iwaizumi offered him a smile, the others vanishing back into the shadows in an instant, bleeding back into the wood.

He'd end up like them. Oikawa's smile choked on itself, and he lowered his face, looking away, into the crowd. Iwaizumi would end up like the rest, no matter what Matsukawa thought. That's why he had to tell Iwa-chan a lie, convince him Matsukawa was wrong. He just prayed that Iwaizumi couldn't see through him. Sometimes he thought Iwaizumi hesitated before answering, sometimes caught him thinking for too long after Oikawa spoke. But that was before, before he'd gotten his body back and Oikawa still saw warmth in his eyes. 

Iwaizumi's eyes were the green of moonlight filtering through the ocean's depths, cold and dangerous. They used to change - subtly, the barest relaxation of his eyelids - when he regarded Oikawa. The softening used to remind him of the colour of a shallow lake.

“Hey, Iwa-chan…” Oikawa sang out. “Remember what you promised me?” 

Iwaizumi nodded. “Don’t buy anything over fifteen drogs. I’m not giving that arrogant innkeeper any more money than I have to.” 

Feeling his lips slide out into a pout, Oikawa held out his hand. "Fine, you cheap bastard. Just for you, I'll spit on the server as well."

Iwaizumi handed him over the coins, eyebrows raised. "I can't tell if you're joking or not. But don't. Not unless it's the person at the front desk." 

Oikawa only winked as he rose from his seat, returning with a steaming plate of meat a while later.

"That definitely wasn't fifteen drogs," Iwaizumi observed as Oikawa gave him back his scanty change. 

"It's for you too, Iwa-chan," Oikawa answered, pushing the plate to the middle. "Now, let's see how we can kill that bitch."

They discussed strategies, and, to his dismay, Oikawa had to give Iwaizumi credit for being smarter than he'd assumed. Not as intelligent as himself, but almost as sharp. Iwaizumi knew how to kill things well, and Oikawa knew how to read creatures well. Still, without solid indications of who or what type of white she wielded, the conversation turned up no viable solutions. It was all speculation and theories without any reliable proof. 

“Sometimes…” Iwaizumi hesitated on his words, leaning back, open palms pushing against the edge of the table. His chair scraped against the floor. “Sometimes I wonder what’ll happen if we fail. If we get there and the heir is already dead, or if we die.” 

"The heir is too useful," Oikawa responded. "She'd be a fool to kill that thing. If we're right and it can really keep Breaths tethered to people, it’s a monster."

Iwaizumi sighed, threading a hand back through his dark hair. "I hope you're right."

"Why do you care so much?" Oikawa queried. "It's a dead promise to a dead king."

His gaze dipped, to where Iwaizumi's throat shifted, his hand rubbing along his chin. His voice was faint. "I… I failed this country once before."

"So what?"

"So I need to make up for it."

"You don't."

Iwaizumi sighed deeper, dropping his head into his hands. "Oikawa, I do. If you knew the full story, you'd understand."

"Why do you feel personally responsible for everything that happens? Sometimes things happen and it's fucked up, but that doesn't mean it's anyone's fault."

"No, this was definitely my fault."

"Someone's a little self-absorbed."

They were interrupted by an extra drink being placed down in front of Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi frowned, glancing up at the barkeep. 

"I didn't order anything."

"It's from the lady over there," the bartender said, gesturing over to the bar, where a woman sat, elbows propped up on the counter, dark curly hair brushed behind her ears. Her light brown shirt, usually worn by men, was tucked into her pants, accenting her structured waistline. 

Iwaizumi looked her up and down, a little smile on his lips, and Oikawa's heart sunk. She gave him a little flirty wave, smiling back. 

"Sorry, Oikawa," Iwaizumi began, his eyes returning to him for only a heartbeat before flickering back to her. "Do you mind if I…"

"No, not at all!" Oikawa chirped back, hitting Iwaizumi on the shoulder. "Go get her!"

Iwaizumi slid back from his seat. "Thanks. I'll see you back in the room later - or maybe tomorrow morning, depending on how things go."

He picked up his drink and left, Oikawa unable to tear his eyes away as he made his way over to her, a little greeting touch on her arm testing the waters. Oikawa felt sick, and forced himself to turn away, finishing the last of his drink, far too weak. Although every inch of his flesh swore against it, he got up and walked towards the bar, attempting to not look over at them. He wouldn't. He didn't want to. As he flagged down the bartender, he directed a smile across at a cute man, who raised an eyebrow and broke eye contact. Oikawa huffed out a breath, smile vanishing. Maybe he'd have better luck with the next one, and with it, a distraction. 

"Hey, what can I get you?"

Oikawa glanced over at the bartender. "Would you mind directing me to any regulars who enjoy attention from a good-looking male such as myself?"

The bartender smiled at him, his ginger beard shifting. "Don't worry, they'll approach you if one is interested, like what happened to your friend there. Perhaps even myself later, when I get off my shift."

Oikawa laughed, drawing one finger across the notched counter surface. "Unfortunately, I'm looking for something a bit more... immediate. Your offer is noted, though." 

He winked at him, settling his cheek against his palm. The bartender chuckled, large hands dwarfing the mugs he handled. "Just for that, have one on me."

"You're going to get fired - for me?" Oikawa asked, smiling as he took the offered drink. "All I can say is that I'm worth it." 

After that, Oikawa drew him into conversation, a broken one between serving other patrons, but one that served to distract him more than sitting at a table on his own at least. 

"I don't like how this country is changing," he said, pushing his glass in a small circle. He didn't like how he was changing, either. He tried to shake the thought away and realised he was physically shaking his head. Fuck. Maybe he was a little drunk. 

"You never know," the bartender told him. "It might be changing for the better. I've heard that she treats the villagers that come to her well. And she has the backing of a major faction as well."

Oikawa tried to get his mind to focus. He should be paying attention to this, but out of the corner of his eye Iwaizumi was kissing the woman's neck and laughing and Oikawa could hear his stupid low voice cutting through all the rest of the chatter straight through to his bones echoing through his chest and he wished that that deep voice was being whispered against his skin -

"Do you want something else?"

Oikawa raised his head. It felt heavy, unbalanced. "Whatever the strongest drink is. I'll have that."

"Gotcha. A trok." 

Oikawa didn't remember much after that. He might've kissed a few people, drank more drinks paid for by others, but he remembered the exact moment Iwaizumi climbed up the stairs after that woman, remembered clattering the key against the lock, remembered falling into a spinning bed alone. 

Iwaizumi came back the next morning at dawn. 

"It's good to have a body again," he told Oikawa with a smile as he gathered up his things, selecting a new set of clothes. As he reached for his sword, the hemline of his shirt slipped down, and Oikawa saw bruises like small roses mottled against his dark skin, lining his collarbone, cradled by the hollow of his neck. Somehow, those ones hurt more than Oikawa’s own bruises. 

Oikawa forced a grin onto his lips, a thin little laugh spiralling out of his mouth. "I'd say so, Iwa-chan. Fun night?"

"Mm-hmm," Iwaizumi acknowledged with the same smile in his voice, and somehow that was worse than him going into detail. 

Oikawa's head throbbed. He'd drank too much, but not nearly enough. The image of Iwaizumi with her was clearer than before, as if the alcohol had seared it into the back of his eyelids like acid. Iwaizumi turned around, yawning as he put the clothes on his unused bed, hands rising to unbutton his crumpled shirt.

"You ready to go?"

Oikawa nodded, and found an excuse to face away from Iwaizumi and the marks on his neck, smoothing out the creases in the bed's blankets. He knew he could’ve gotten someone into bed with him last night too. Oikawa was good at flirting, good at flattering people, and good-looking. He knew that some patrons last night would’ve been more than happy to hear an offer to return to his room, but he hadn’t wanted any of them. 

Oikawa exhaled. He had to get over this. 

They left soon after, with Oikawa trying to swallow past the clog in his throat. Iwaizumi whistled as they walked, in as good a mood as Oikawa had ever seen him in. 

"You okay?" Iwaizumi asked, glancing over to him. "You're not talking as much shit as usual."

"I'm fine. Just drank a bit too much last night," Oikawa admitted, each step causing his stomach to contract. 

What was wrong with him? How had Iwa-chan picked up on his actual mood? He was a better actor than this.

Maybe you want Iwaizumi to notice that you're upset, Matsukawa's voice suggested. 

Shut up! Oikawa willed it. It wouldn't change anything. 

“I might throw up a bit along the way.” 

“As long as it doesn’t slow us down.” 

"It won't," Oikawa reassured him. "I've mastered the art of walking while vomiting. I may not have as strong a stomach as I had in my twenties, but I'm still able to handle myself just fine. I don't even get any sick on my clothes, which, may I say, is very impressive."

Iwaizumi snorted. "It certainly is. I have to say though, I use the method of not overdoing it in the first place, and I find that works just as well."

"Well, if you don't want to have a good time that's your choice," Oikawa retorted back. 

"Don't think alcohol is required for that."

Not when you're as good-looking as you are, Oikawa thought, stealing a glance at Iwaizumi's straight-cut nose and accented lips, his freshly shaven jawline. Age had worn some lines into the sides of his eyes and the edges of his mouth, but somehow they caused him to look more dignified, the crinkles when he smiled making his sharp features look softer. 

“You’re just boring,” Oikawa said, looking away. He could feel Yahaba's gaze on him. 

“Although I have to say, it looked like you were hitting it off with the barkeeper,” Iwaizumi commented. 

“Did I?” Scratching his chin, Oikawa felt a pang of tenderness, and then the half-memory of a beard grazing against it rose up. Oops. Explains how drunk he had gotten, despite his coin purse being the same weight. “I didn’t think you were capable of noticing anything else than that woman’s cleavage.” 

Iwaizumi laughed. “Her name was Rika.” 

“Hm. You’re a better man than me. I don’t think I even bothered to ask the barkeeper’s name.”

“Really? Then what were you talking about?” 

Oikawa threw him over a flat-eyed look. “Do you really expect me to remember that?” 

A smile lifted Iwaizumi’s lips. “Alright, I’ll leave you off with that.” 

From the reactive tightness in his chest, Oikawa knew he was weakening. Or perhaps he was finally developing a breathing disorder after years of holding his breath and passing out.

It had been too long since he'd lost someone, and he had to face himself with the honest truth that he'd missed companionship. 

It was fine. They still had about two day's travel left, and after that, Oikawa could… he would… he didn't know. Yahaba would go back to Kyoutani, Iwaizumi would rejoin the Form, and Oikawa would help, any way he could. He recalled Iwaizumi asking him not to mention his white to Daichi, and wondered if he would even be tolerated in the Form. If they had worked with Torem as closely as Iwaizumi had claimed, there was no way they wouldn't recognise him. 

His fingers dug into his bag strap. That was fine. They didn't need to like him. All he needed to do was work with them, retrieve the heir, and his duty would be done. 

"Oikawa-san?"

Oikawa clucked his tongue, not even looking at Yahaba as he unpacked his cloak, the ground damp against his knees. "I still don't get a senpai? You hurt me, Yahaba-kun."

He heard Yahaba inhale. "Oikawa-senpai."

Frowning, Oikawa glanced over at him, eyes dipping to his tightly clasped hands. "Do I have brain rot, or did you just listen to what I said?"

"I have been listening to what you say," Yahaba replied. "I want to learn how to solidify my Breath better, before I rejoin Kyoutani."

Oikawa snorted, standing and securing the cloak around his shoulders. "Told you I was right." He smiled widely at Yahaba, clapping his hands together. 

“So! Time to begin. I should let you know that I’ve had two apprentices die while learning this technique. One was their own fault, one was mine. Let’s hope I learned from my mistakes!” 

The blood drained from Yahaba’s face. “What?” 

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Oikawa assured him. “You managed to do it once without punching a hole through your throat or piercing your lungs, so that’s a great start.” 

“Is - Oh, shit…” Yahaba muttered to himself. “That’s why you were so against taking me on? Wait, if it’s so risky why were you so insistent on me learning it?” 

“Because there’s less risk of you being killed by it than by other people,” Oikawa explained. “Understood? If you survive this, you’ll have a weapon on you at all times, fast, effective, and deadly if you choose.” 

Yahaba gave him an uncertain, shaky nod, and Oikawa widened his smile. 

“You already agreed to this, remember,” he chirped out. "Try your best not to irritate me during the next few days." 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Iwaizumi shaking his head. 

"I don't think threatening me is necessary at this stage," Yahaba pointed out, and Oikawa tilted his head in question. 

"But where's your sense of fun?" 

Oikawa could hear Iwaizumi’s sigh, despite him being five feet away. "I bet you'll be glad to get back to Flightless."

Yahaba winced. "The name is sort of cringey. Do you mind not saying it aloud?"

Iwaizumi snorted. "Who came up with it, anyway?"

"Uh, Kuroo I think, and somehow it caught on. He sometimes gives this speech, too, and I mean, it's inspiring, but…"

"Mm. You sound very convinced of that," Oikawa drawled out, and Yahaba stuck up his chin. 

“He may be slightly corny at times, but his heart is in the right place.” 

Chuckling, Iwaizumi rose, slinging his bag against his back with a thump. “Like trying to kill me, you mean?” 

“With a few exceptions,” Yahaba amended. 

Oikawa watched as Iwaizumi brushed off Kuroo's actions with an easy readiness, joking about it with Yahaba, and felt a pulse of admiration. Iwaizumi was so… steady. It wasn't as if he wasn't expressive, but more like anything thrown at him, he could handle, do everything in his power to deal with it, and move past grudges lightly. His own grudges struck Oikawa like a chasm of rocks in the bottom of his lungs, and he wished he had that ability to let them go. Losing an arm, losing his body… Iwaizumi had faced them all calmly, and Oikawa wondered what he'd been through to be so unfazed by death, so resilient.

Iwaizumi caught him staring at him, and lifted a hand, passing it in front of Oikawa's face. "Hey, you good?"

"I'm waiting on you two," Oikawa insisted, turning his head away. He heard a snicker from Yahaba and, as soon as Iwaizumi looked away, Oikawa glowered at him, motioning for him to shut his mouth. 

Yahaba shrugged, as if there wasn't anything he could do about it. Oikawa, resigned, rotated to tag after Iwaizumi, fearing that there wasn't anything he could do about it, either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I appreciate comments so very much!  
> UPDATE: one of my wonderful readers, cathgotyourtongue, made art of this chapter!  
> Support them [ here! ](https://cathgotyourtongue.tumblr.com/post/619075232100220928/but-out-of-the-corner-of-his-eye-iwaizumi-was)  
>   
> 


	8. Temperance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cathgotyourtongue made amazing art of the last chapter, check it out [here! ](https://cathgotyourtongue.tumblr.com/post/619075232100220928/but-out-of-the-corner-of-his-eye-iwaizumi-was)  
> Thank you so much!!!

Oikawa continued to train Iwaizumi, teaching him methods to focus his mind, concentrate on discharging his power when and where he needed to. Because both of his abilities had meshed together, Iwaizumi was struggling to separate them, and after the eighth tree disintegrated that he was supposed to only push, Oikawa feared the tenseness of his jaw might break his teeth. 

“Take a break,” he suggested. “Teach me some swordsmanship.” 

“No. No, I’ll get this. I managed to push that Osole woman away, and those soldiers in my memory. I can do this.” Iwaizumi wiped some sweat off of his forehead and strode over to the next unfortunate tree, which cracked at his touch, the leaves shivering, as if knowing death was coming, and then fell into dust. 

Iwaizumi exhaled hard, glowering down at his hands, as if he could intimidate them into co-operating. “I don’t understand. I could do it before this.” 

Oikawa tried not to let Iwaizumi's natural ability scare him, but it was hard, seeing the piles of dust dotted around and only signs of Iwaizumi wearing down now. The worst part was, Iwaizumi was unaware of how truly rare a combination like this was, in addition to how large his white was. Iwaizumi had no idea how dangerous he was. 

Oikawa gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the tension of his muscles, rigid and knotted, through his shirt. “You won’t get anywhere overexerting yourself. Just because there's no known consequences for Fracturing doesn't mean there aren't any. Take out your frustrations by beating the shit out of me with a stick instead."

He knew he wasn't one to talk, having passed out while training himself multiple times in the past, but that didn't stop him from realising that maybe he shouldn't have pushed himself so hard. 

Iwaizumi blew out a breath. "You do make it sound tempting." 

Oikawa bent over and grabbed a rod Yahaba had made earlier, holding out one for Iwaizumi to take. 

They sparred for a bit, and Iwaizumi seemed to relax, his posture unwinding as he spoke, calm and measured, even when he was running out of breath, which was shamefully a long time after Oikawa did. Although Oikawa was nowhere near besting him in combat, he felt himself able to put up more of a resistance each time, finding the clunk of the rods hitting together reverberating through his hand satisfying. Once you got it, there was a certain rhythm to it, a mindless reliance on your body, that Oikawa enjoyed. He would still swear that it was a "brutal, uncivilised art," to Iwa-chan. 

Iwaizumi paused for a trok, catching Oikawa's rod in his hand with ease. "You're smiling."

Straightening out his mouth, Oikawa shook his head. "I think you're getting old and blind."

For a heartbeat, Oikawa thought he saw warmth in Iwaizumi's gaze, the edges of his mouth softening. But he only released Oikawa's staff, raising his eyebrows. "If you say so."

"We're wasting practice time," Oikawa prompted him, twirling the staff around his back. It was beginning to feel like a detachable limb, almost like how he controlled his Breath, without the suffocation. 

Iwaizumi approached him, his eyes flattening into his concentration. As he swung his staff, his eyes flared white, just for a moment, and then the stick dissolved away in his hands, particles filtering through his fingers. 

Oikawa took a step back, chest tight. Iwaizumi stared at his hands. “That… never happened before.”

“It’s because you had suppressed them so far down,” Oikawa explained. He placed his rod down on the ground. He was afraid Iwaizumi would see the end of it vibrating, amplifying his trembling hands. “Now that you’re actively practicing, they’ll come easier and easier to you. If before they were buried under the sea, now they’re just below the surface.” 

Iwaizumi's head shot up, catching Oikawa's gaze with barely concealed panic. “Did this happen to you? Am I going to randomly disintegrate things and send them flying away from me?”

“For a while,” Oikawa said. “It depends on how quickly you can grasp them. And for me…” He pulled back his sleeve to the elbow, exposing a whitened scar down the length, from his elbow to his wrist. It was clean, precise, as if made by a thin blade. “It took me a while to master solidifying my Breath.” 

Iwaizumi took a levelled, even breath, his eyes tracing the scar. “How long is a while?”

“A few weeks.”

Still focused on the old wound, Iwaizumi reached out a hand, fingers extending towards Oikawa's inner forearm. Oikawa's chest stilled, feeling no urge to pull away as he did before, and allowed Iwaizumi to reach him. His fingertips skirted across the rough surface, and Oikawa shivered. The movement seemed to snap Iwaizumi out of it, and he withdrew his hand, pulling up his gaze quickly. His eyes avoided Oikawa's as he spoke, picking up the conversation. 

“I don’t have that long. If I go to the Form and they see my white…”

“I didn’t have the benefit of an expert, skilled teacher,” Oikawa replied, rolling down his sleeve. He tried not to think of the tenderness of Iwaizumi's touch. “The extra time we’ve gained by diverting to the Flightless will be enough.” 

I hope, he added in his head, but from how Iwaizumi was regarding him, it didn’t matter if he said it aloud or not. 

"I'll make it enough time," Iwaizumi said, and the determination in his voice made Oikawa's heart skip a beat. 

Oikawa nodded, chewing on the inside of his lip. "Overworking yourself isn't the answer. I'll push you, but when I say to stop, you stop. Agreed?"

Meeting his eyes, Iwaizumi curled up his fists. "Alright. Agreed."

"Yahaba-kun," Oikawa called out. "Make Iwa-chan another stick."

"Only if I get extra meat at dinner."

Little ikol was getting cocky, bargaining with him. Maybe he was learning more from Oikawa than Oikawa wanted him too. 

"Tell you what," Oikawa replied, wishing Yahaba wasn't behind a row of trees so he could stare him down until he felt guilty, "I will allow you to finish training a whole ten troks earlier, whenever you want. Does that sound fair?"

"Nothing that comes out of your mouth sounds fair," Iwaizumi muttered out, and Oikawa shot him a warning side-eye. 

"Deal, Oikawa-san. Give me a few troks." 

After a bit, Yahaba appeared through the trees and threw Iwaizumi a stick, who nodded his thanks. "You still up for a bit more?" 

"Of course, Iwa-chan."

The time to Flightless seemed to pass by far too quickly. Yahaba guided them with an increasing confidence that, despite Oikawa's cynical eye, was warranted. His attacking Breaths were fast and down to a thin diameter about the circumference of Oikawa's little finger. Whenever they weren't walking, they were training, either Oikawa instructing Iwaizumi or Yahaba, or, when Yahaba needed a break, Iwaizumi taught him some of the more challenging swordsmanship aspects. Oikawa's grace fed naturally into the fluid motions, although he struggled with some quick jabs. Iwaizumi assured him that they would come with practice, his were more of instinct and muscle memory than thought, but his failings still bothered Oikawa. He was a perfectionist, and suspected that he always would be. 

It hindered his happiness, he knew that, but it had gotten him where he was. 

There was a rustling in the bushes to his left, and Oikawa blinked, thrown out of his thoughts to squint at the area. 

"Did you hear that?"

"About time you noticed," Iwaizumi said, continuing on. "It's that boy we helped. He's been following us for a while, ever since we left his village."

Yahaba stopped in his tracks. "What? Why didn't you say anything?"

Turning on his heel, Iwaizumi sighed. "I've tried to coax him out, but he refuses to join us." He shrugged. "I don't know why."

"It's because you look scary," Oikawa told him, and Yahaba gave Iwaizumi a sympathetic look. 

"He's right. If I was a child I wouldn't want to go to you either."

Iwaizumi's response was to scowl, which didn't help matters. "Well, if I'm so scary, you try."

Yahaba's head was angled, examining the nearby group of trees. Oikawa saw a flash of ginger hair spring from one section to the other, and he wondered how he'd missed the kid for so many days. Then again, he was so shattered that every night he had immediately passed out. He was either training Yahaba or being trained by Iwaizumi, and the aches in his limbs weren't wearing away. 

Shrugging off his baggage, Yahaba crouched by the bushes, approaching as if he was stalking a raq. 

"You're going to scare him," Oikawa told him, and Yahaba glanced back. "What do you mean? I haven't done anything yet."

"Let me do it." 

Aware of his height, Oikawa dropped to his knees, the leaves crinkling. Scrounging around in Yahaba’s dropped bag, he found what he was looking for. Food. 

"Hey there. You must be hungry, of course," he said, speaking to the undergrowth in front of him, little orange berries spotted against the dense green. He held out the bread, and heard a crackling to his right. He didn't give any indication of hearing it. "It's okay. You can take it."

A skinny arm broke out of the bushes and grabbed the bread in a flash, and Oikawa smiled. 

"He must recognise that you're the one who saved him," Iwaizumi observed, and Oikawa shook his head. 

"He's just hungry." 

He straightened up, and Iwaizumi frowned. 

"It takes time to build trust," Oikawa spoke softly. "He'll show himself when he feels safe." 

"And then what?" Iwaizumi dropped his voice. 

"We take him in, of course," Yahaba interjected. 

"In where?"

"Flightless," Yahaba said. "I know Suga-san won't turn away a little boy. If he's following us, he really must not have anywhere to go. We have to take care of him, even if it's only until we find someone willing to take him in." 

"Are you sure you have the resources for that?" Oikawa asked. "Didn't most of your supplies come from the king's imported goods? Now they're not coming through, where is your food coming from?"

Wincing, Yahaba looked away. "I'm sure Suga-san figured something out."

"Well, we'll find out soon enough," Iwaizumi commented. "Come on."

Iwaizumi was right. About half a day later, Yahaba began scanning around him, searching for more subtle cues as to the location. 

"That's the mark," he pointed at a rock planted at the base of a tree. "We're only a few troks away!"

He sped up his pace, and although Oikawa's limbs groaned about it, they pushed on, trailing after Yahaba's enthusiasm. 

A figure was waiting for them, leaning against the massive trunk of a nearby tree. 

"Daichi said you'd be arriving about now," he called out, and Yahaba perked up. 

"Suga!" Yahaba beamed, and bounded over to him, hugging him. 

"Yahaba, welcome back! You look more mature," Sugawara told him, hugging him back. "Kyoutani's been… well, he hasn't been asking about you directly, but you know how he is. He's been looking forwards to your return." 

"It'll be good to see him too," Yahaba replied, leaning a little to the side, around Sugawara. 

"He's not here. I thought it would be nice for you to surprise him. He should be with Tanaka," Suga suggested, and Yahaba's eyes alighted. 

"Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san, I'm going to go on ahead."

"We'll catch up in a bit," Iwaizumi nodded, and Yahaba, barely holding back from breaking into a run, hurried through the line of trees. 

“Iwaizumi,” Sugawara said, his airy voice loaded with fondness. 

Iwaizumi stepped forward and hugged him, hard and brief. “It’s been too long, Suga.” 

"Far too long," Suga answered, holding Iwaizumi by his shoulders and peering at his face. "How do you look so much more mature? I wish I could be branded so I can contact you like Daichi can."

"Speaking of Daichi, where is he?"

"We're expecting someone, so he's back home in case they arrive while I'm out. It's been wonderful to have him back. But there's been a few…"

His gaze strayed past Iwaizumi. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" He glanced Oikawa up and down, who stepped forwards, placing a hand on his hip. 

"I can introduce myself just fine, but you two were having a moment," he said. "I couldn't let myself interrupt the sweet scene."

"Then let me greet you now. Oikawa Tooru, is it?" 

His smile was warm, soft. The mole under his eye shifted with it, unusual grey eyelashes just sweeping below the last strands of his silver hair covering his forehead. His face was heart-shaped and his pale skin was silken, telling of a person from the Westlands. 

"Yes. And you're Sugawara, of course," Oikawa replied, clasping his hand. It was as soft as his smile. So this was Daichi's partner? Oikawa had pictured someone with a similar, crafty edge to them, instead of who stood in front of him, looking like a walking cloud. Then again, perhaps he was just better at hiding it. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." 

"I should be the one saying that, with your reputation." Sugawara chuckled, and Oikawa shot a meaningful look over at Iwaizumi. 

"See? At least someone recognises my talent."

"If one more person 'recognises your talent' your head is going to grow so big it'll explode," Iwaizumi answered, and Suga gave him an inquiring look. 

Iwaizumi stayed stoic, crossing his arms over his chest. "Once you get to know him, you'll know he deserves what I say."

“I don’t," Oikawa rebuffed. "He’s just mean.”

Tilting his head, Suga smiled broadly. “So how long have you been dating?” 

Iwaizumi made a noise that sounded like a half-choke. “We’re not - why would you think that?”

"Just a feeling. I apologise if I overstepped my boundaries," he said, with a lightness in his voice, a twinkle in his eye that told Oikawa he knew exactly what he had done. Oikawa cursed himself - was he really that obvious?

Oikawa aimed a smile at him, one hand on his hip. "Apology accepted. Now, I'm ready for the grand introduction of your bandit lair." 

"It's coming right up," Sugawara assured him as Iwaizumi grumbled out, "It's not a bandit lair."

"He'll see," Suga affirmed, patting Iwaizumi's shoulder. "Now, there's a few things you need to know. We've told them that Daichi needed to disappear because the king had targeted him, and the only way to do that was for him to believe he was dead, and now that the king is dead he can return. Some people, I'm afraid, aren't so trusting. It's only been a few days, and some aren't convinced that he isn't simply a shifter imitating him. I don't have the capacity to place Daichi's presence into a hundred people's memories of three years, so we have to make them believe our story the old-fashioned way."

He glanced over at Iwaizumi. "You will get a few stares. As long as you're with me, you should be okay, but don't stay here long."

Iwaizumi nodded, brushing away a stray branch with the back of his hand. "I understand. We don't plan to be here for long anyway, just a night to drop off Yahaba and then continue to the Form."

Sugawara eyed Oikawa. "And you?"

"Me?"

"As far as I know, you have no allegiances. Am I wrong?"

"For the moment, it's still Torem."

"Despite his unfortunate circumstances of being dead?"

"I owe him," Oikawa answered. “And by extension, his son.” 

“I see. Daichi thought that you were unlikely to stay with our cause,” Sugawara told him. “It’s a surprise, but a welcome one." He tilted his head. "Iwaizumi must be quite the persuader."

A little half-smile hung on his mouth, but Oikawa refused to acknowledge it. 

"Iwa-chan would struggle without me here to help," he stated, flicking his hand in the air. "I couldn't leave him in such a position." 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Iwaizumi roll his eyes.

"Here we are," Sugawara said. 

The trees opened like the opening of a river fanning out into the ocean. Oikawa blinked, not expecting the breadth of the space hidden by the thick ring of woods. He could see why this place would be difficult to find, no clues of the clearing, no lightning of the floor or thinning of the branches overheard until almost the very moment you stepped out. Scanning the area, a low murmur of voices covered the ground, occasionally broken by a yell or burst of laughter. Huts, all facing towards the central grassy knoll, were wide and solid, a lot more permanent than a bandit camp. 

What surprised Oikawa were the splashes of white, worn openly by the people. A dash across someone's neck, a dot on the back of a leg - he'd never seen them displayed so… fearlessly. It wasn't an act of defiance, as he'd seen before. It was a comfortable atmosphere. 

"Yes," Iwaizumi said to him, reading his expression correctly. "This is a group the Form made for magickers to join, an alternative to the brutal bandit camps in Awero. It was Daichi's idea actually, after he met Suga. Many weren't keen on it, but it helps us shut down any rogue magickers in the area and dissuade any bandits from approaching the border. And it gives the outcasts a place to go.” 

"Are they aware that the Form is behind all of this?" Oikawa asked. 

"Most aren't. Many despise the idea of any authority. I can't blame them, they've been fucked over by it enough."

"How come that spiky one recognised your brand then? Back in the cave, when he was about to kill you."

"He was closer to Daichi than others, I think. He might've picked up on things he wasn't supposed to know, just like you did" Iwaizumi guessed. "Either way, it worked and that's all I'm concerned with." 

"Not that it did you any good. You died anyway."

Suga turned to Iwaizumi. "Daichi told me about that. How did you manage to get your body back?"

"Too long of a story," Iwaizumi stated. "Short version is that I went into a time pool where I still had my body and stole it back from there." 

Angling his head, Suga blinked. "I'll pretend that makes sense." 

"How are you faring with food?" Yahaba asked Suga, scanning around the settlement. "I see a few more huts, but…"

"We were lucky with a gifted farmer," Suga chuckled out, pointing to the left. There was a clearing, still with tree stumps embedded in the dirt, large enough to be an entire field, green sprouting from the mud. "He can make things grow thrice as fast, so we've been doing alright for the moment." 

A man moved among the field, his steps like what Oikawa imagined roots would act like if they were legs. His hair was a faded white, his eyebrows so light that they were almost invisible. Nodding to them, his eyes crossed over to beyond them, lifting his chin to get a better view. His white was massive, almost as large a patch as Iwaizumi's, running from behind one ear to the hollow of his neck, visible through the uneven hem of his shirt. 

Oikawa had known that Breathers could affect plants, but it was rare to see someone channel all of their energy and white into farming. Still, he found himself impressed by the tall man, sensing a sort of gravitation around him as they passed by. Maybe Oikawa should focus a bit more on agriculture himself. 

Oikawa heard footsteps behind them, and he turned, just catching a threadbare glimpse of the boy dodging back behind a nearby hut. The tender of the garden appeared confused, leaning behind the hut cautiously, and the boy scampered out again, freezing as soon as he saw everyone looking at him. 

Iwaizumi started forwards, but Oikawa placed a hand against his chest, instead smiling at the boy, waving him over. 

"It's okay, you can come over if you want to," he called out, and the boy hesitantly slunk up to them, hands fidgeting with the hem of his ripped short-sleeved shirt. His face was smeared with dirt, his gaze restless, and Oikawa recognised the same clothes on him from the attack. 

“Oh? Who’s this?” Suga asked, crouching down, and the boy flinched, suddenly skittering to behind Oikawa. 

Fighting not to move, Oikawa raised his eyebrows at Iwaizumi, who shrugged. 

“I’m Hinata Shouyo,” the boy announced, as bold as possible when he was hiding behind Oikawa’s legs. Oikawa felt little hands grab at his cloak. 

“I’m Sugawara, but you can call me Suga. How are you?”

"Hungry," he answered, tugging at Oikawa's cloak. "Do you have more of that bread?"

“Is this the type of demanding brat that Tobio is going to grow up to be?” Oikawa asked Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi stifled a laugh within a cough. 

"He's just a kid. Kids get hungry." Iwaizumi bent down, slinging his bag off of his shoulder and breaking some cheese in half. "Here."

The kid accepted it eagerly, and it was gone within a trok. 

Iwaizumi glanced over at Suga. "His home was burnt down by Osole. I'm not sure if he's a magicker or not, but do you have space for him?"

“Always. Get Tanaka for me,” Suga mentioned to someone passing by. “Tell him I’ve a new kouhai for him.” 

They nodded and jogged off, and Suga directed his smile at Hinata again. "What would you like to do, Hinata?"

"Eat," Hinata answered. "Then maybe climb a tree. And find my mom." 

Oikawa stiffened, his eyes meeting Iwaizumi, seeing the well of sadness he felt reflected. 

“Do you have any other family?” Suga questioned, and Hinata shook his head. 

“How old are you?” 

“Six.” 

Oikawa glanced down. “Short for your age, aren’t you?” 

“I’m gonna grow! Like this!"

He crouched down and leapt into the air, his head almost coming level with Oikawa’s. Oikawa found himself taking a step back instinctively, blinking hard. 

“Fuck. That's an impressive pair of springs in his ankles,” Iwaizumi commented, and Suga placed a finger over his lips. "Iwaizumi, no cursing."

"Fuck!" Hinata said, grinning widely. 

"No!" Suga exclaimed. 

Someone new jogged up to them, a fresh-faced man with an entirely shaved head, just a little bit of grey stubble covering it. Oikawa judged that he couldn't be more than twenty-four, twenty-five. His chin was sharp and strong, eyes alert as he halted beside Suga, grinning down at Hinata. 

"So here's the new boy, huh? Are you lost?"

"I'm not lost. My mom is," came Hinata's protest, and Suga locked eyes with Tanaka, giving his head a little shake. 

"Well, if you want to stay here until you find your mom you can," Tanaka suggested. "My name's Tanaka Ryunosuke, but you can call me Big Bro, or Super-Awesome Senpai. It's up to you."

"Okay, Bald Man!"

Tanaka laughed, ruffling Hinata's hair. "I like this kid. Where'd you find him, Suga?"

Sugawara only gave a soft laugh, patting Tanaka on the shoulder. "It doesn't matter where he came from. All that matters is that you have space for him."

"Of course!"

Hinata left with Tanaka, appearing happy enough to follow him, and Suga assured them that Tanaka did that all the time, young magickers rejected by their families or unable to hide their white, or even anyone that wasn't sure where to go. 

Iwaizumi frowned as they forged deeper into the settlement. "Are there less people here than before?"

“A few have abandoned us.”

“What do you mean, abandoned? To the South?” 

“To Aecus. Rumour going is that magickers are treated well by the central castle, for once.” 

Iwaizumi's expression hardened. "We heard that too. She's gathering quite the following."

"And she's arranged meetings with the Westland lords and the major Eastern deities, too. She clearly has long-term plans for occupation," Suga informed them, then glanced around. "We'll discuss it inside. It's too sensitive to say more out here."

"Hey! You!" 

They turned, and there was a man striding up to them, his attention clearly focused on only one of them. Iwaizumi. 

"You're the fucker who pretended to cleave off Daichi's head."

"You know that I didn't actually, right?"

"Yamamoto-" Suga attempted. 

"Do you have any idea what we went through? What you were aiding in?"

"It was necessary," Iwaizumi said. "I’m sorry for any distress caused, but it couldn't be avoided."

Sugawara's eyes swept the area. "Did Kuroo send you?"

"No - I mean, it doesn't matter if he did or not," his face flushed. "That doesn't change the fact that this king-licker came in here and had a part to play in our pain -"

"As did I," Sugawara told him. "Are you going to confront me for my role?"

"You're different, you're one of us. He was probably sent by the king to kill Daichi-san, and you reacted the only way you could by altering our memories." 

Sugawara nodded. "And Iwaizumi was kind enough to agree to our plan. If it wasn't for him, Daichi would be dead."

"He's still a pathetic supporter of a dead king-"

"Fine," Iwaizumi interrupted, stepping past Sugawara and drawing his sword. "Enough of the talking. Are you going to challenge me to a fight or not?"

"Yes. The world will be cleaner without you sick oppressors around."

"Choose the weapon then," Iwaizumi said, and he glanced back at Oikawa and Sugawara. "You two might want to back up a bit."

Doubt overriding him, Oikawa opened his mouth. "Iwa-chan, are you actually going to -"

"Swords," the other man announced. "I'll beat you at what you're best at."

"Fine by me," Iwaizumi replied, and Sugawara laid a hand on Oikawa's arm, guiding him back.

A crowd was beginning to form, drawn by the loud demands and the strangers' presence. Someone tossed him a blade, and he lifted it up, straight-armed, so the tip was pointing at Iwaizumi's throat. 

"You won't have time to say any last words." 

He lunged forwards, and Iwaizumi met him head-on, the harsh sound of metal ringing against metal jarring Oikawa's bones. Leaping back, Iwaizumi followed up with a sweep underneath his guard, and the man jumped back, out of reach, but Iwaizumi pressed forwards, swinging his blade upwards, not allowing him to get clear, to take a single breath. 

"Ooh," Suga commented. "Looks like he annoyed Iwaizumi. He should know better, with Iwaizumi's reputation."

"Reputations are there to be tested," Oikawa replied, but as he tracked the fight, the ferocity of Iwaizumi's movements, he began to think that his reputation was downplayed if anything. 

It was easy to dismiss those stories of Iwaizumi disassembling a storm, battling a force of nature and winning, of besting a dragon with a blade of lightening, of hunting the beasts that could destroy - no, level - whole villages and killing them with ease, but they were harder to wave away when Oikawa saw the power in every blow and the resolve in every motion. Oikawa had later regarded Iwaizumi's achievements as a product of his white - of unknowingly releasing power he couldn't control, but seeing him now.. Oikawa began to doubt his previous hypothesis. Iwaizumi Hajime was strong without his white. 

Oikawa realised that he had never seen Iwaizumi fight, not like this. Not like he was burning pure fury through his veins, not when his gaze was as dark and shape as cut coal. He beat down on the man with a forceful rage, slashing so fiercely Oikawa was sure he could feel the wind from his blade against his face. 

Maybe a better swordsman would have been able to take advantage of Iwaizumi’s reckless anger, redirect it, but not this man. He faltered, sword clashing against Iwaizumi’s, barely able to make it in time to parry. Oikawa could see his arm shake with every blow blocked, the desperation he rolled out of the way with. 

Oikawa examined Iwaizumi’s face closer, and realised he had been wrong. Iwaizumi’s gaze was clear, his brow focused, every move intense, but deliberate. This wasn't raw, blinding anger. It was directed resolve.

“You’ve never seen Iwaizumi fight seriously before?” Sugawara asked, voice light. “Or even semi-seriously?” 

Oikawa shook his head. “Only briefly, when we were ambushed, but I had a screaming baby to worry about then.” 

“You look fascinated,” Sugawara observed, a smile inching over his lips. 

“I -“ Oikawa stopped himself. “Shouldn’t you be stopping this fight? He’s your man.”

Sugawara shrugged. “I never was fond of his overconfidence. He deserves a gentle defeat.” 

“Gentle?” Oikawa repeated, watching as Iwaizumi sliced open a shallow cut across his stomach. “This is gentle?”

Sugawara laughed. “Perhaps you’re right. But better that his arrogance get him in trouble with Iwaizumi rather than someone who will actually kill him.” 

Oikawa couldn’t argue with that. 

“But,” Sugawara added, turning back to the fight. “I didn’t bank on him actually managing to infuriate Iwaizumi.” 

"Isn't that easy to do?" Oikawa commented, and Suga shook his head. 

"He looks grumpy, I know, but he's rarely angry. I've only seen him angry once before, and I don't wish to see it again." 

Oikawa turned to him, but before he could question him further, Sugawara spoke. 

"I need to talk to Dachi about something before you enter. Make sure Iwaizumi doesn't get carried away and kill him, yes? My house is the second on the right." 

Oikawa nodded, tracing his gesture. 

Sugawara had to be joking, right? Iwa-chan wouldn't actually kill anyone, not someone who didn't deserve it fully. From the looks of it, this guy was a bit of an asshole, but Oikawa knew where he was coming from. Torem's laws had enabled the villagers to drive out magickers without any consequence. His laws had intended to give power to the people to rule their own districts as they wished. It was a good intention, but it meant they could upload traditional beliefs and discriminate at will. Many blamed Torem for not being a stricter king, one with enforcers that didn't only intervene when the king's district was threatened, for not attempting to integrate magickers more. It was likely that policy that led to his downfall. Aecus was a notoriously pro-magicker group. 

Turning his mind from politics, he refocused on the fight, which, unsurprisingly, was going Iwaizumi's way still. The man was backed up against the onlookers to Oikawa's left, and though they kept retreating, Iwaizumi kept pushing him, the man unable to gain a single footstep of ground on him. 

Iwaizumi's foot shot out, his heel cracking against the man's ankle. The man folded over, and while he fell, Iwaizumi jabbed his hilt in between the man's palm and his sword, twisting hard. The sword popped out of his grasp, and Iwaizumi levelled his blade at his throat. 

"What did you say about me not having time for my last words?" he asked, and the man swallowed. 

Straightening up, Iwaizumi sheathed his own sword, kicking the man's weapon further out of his reach. 

"Stand up," he ordered. "This fight isn't over until I say so." 

"I'll fight, but not because you said so," the man wiped his mouth, a little trail of blood smearing across his cheek. "It'll be a lot more satisfying to beat you with my bare fists."

Oikawa had no idea how he could talk so big when he had spent the last few troks getting his ass handed to him by Iwaizumi half-trying, but he had to respect his spirit, if nothing else. Wondering why Iwaizumi prolonged the brawl, he watched as the man got to his feet, Iwaizumi not even bothering to put up his fists. 

The man swung, and Iwaizumi ducked, the movement coming easily to his body, and his fist shot out, cracking against the man's side. The man grunted, his hands faltering, and Iwaizumi bobbed up again, his shoulders sloping as if he was about to punch again - but he stopped, instead withdrawing a step. Oikawa frowned as the man recovered, breathing evening out, and advanced on Iwaizumi, keeping his elbows close to his torso this time. 

Abruptly, Iwaizumi flew backwards, as if an invisible wall slammed into him, and he barely managed to save himself from plunging into the ground by sticking out his hands behind him. As it was, he still made a hard thump that seemed to vibrate against Oikawa's feet. So that was why the man was still so confident. 

Getting to his feet, Iwaizumi stared down the man, raising his fists. "That's it?"

The man pushed himself off of the ground, hurtling into the air, and Iwaizumi had to leap backwards to avoid being crushed. Landing right in front of him, the man swung a hook at him, and Iwaizumi blocked with his forearm, an instinctive mistake. A single blast of power from the man's fist and Iwaizumi was forced to stumble backwards to avoid losing his balance. Advancing, the man threw a series of quick hits, and Iwaizumi opted to dodge instead, the pushes vibrating past his face. 

He struck the man just below his ribs, and he faltered, and Iwaizumi took the chance, diving forwards and locking his forearms behind the man’s neck. He drove his face down into Iwaizumi’s rising knee, and Oikawa flinched as the man’s head snapped back - once, twice, thrice - his hands groping at Iwaizumi’s shoulders, attempting to wriggle free. If he was under an assault like that, Oikawa was sure he wouldn't be able to gather the concentration to Breathe, and he suspected it was the same for the Bricker. 

Iwaizumi released him, and the man staggered, blood streaming from his nose, his mouth, not together enough to even wipe it off. Lifting a leg, Iwaizumi placed it on his chest and kicked him onto his ass. Groaning, the man outstretched a hand, and Iwaizumi twisted sideways, letting the force stream past him. 

Striding over to him, Iwaizumi grabbed his shirt, violently yanking him upwards. 

“I didn’t kill Daichi. I don’t care if you believe me or not, or if you think I'm just some monarch's brainless pawn, but stay out of my way.”

"You're a fucking disgrace to Katachi." 

He spat in Iwaizumi’s face, the bloody gob landing on his chin, and rage thundered across Iwaizumi’s expression. 

Within a heartbeat, his shirt dissolved under Iwaizumi’s fingers. 

Iwaizumi froze, his hands unfurling slowly from their grasp on nothing. 

Now untethered, the man slipped out from Iwaizumi, clambering shakily to his feet. In between his legs, Oikawa noticed a damp spot spreading outwards. Iwaizumi straightened too, his hands tightly curled up, and wiped the crimson spit from his chin with the back of a fist. 

“This fight is over. Leave.” 

It sounded like a command. The other man certainly acted as if it was one, scrambling away, not even stopping to collect his sword, bleeding from a dozen different superficial cuts on his bare torso. Iwaizumi lowered his head, blinking fast, and Oikawa's stomach twisted. 

Iwaizumi folded up his arms, tucking his palms underneath his armpits, and made his way to Oikawa. He didn't need to shoulder his way through the onlookers. They parted for him. Oikawa grabbed Iwaizumi’s arm, examining his eyes. To his relief, they were the same green they usually were. 

“I’m fine,” Iwaizumi murmured out. “But…” 

He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, as if trying to reset himself. 

“I didn’t do that intentionally,” Iwaizumi whispered, and his eyes creased up. “If I had grabbed his shoulder instead of his shirt… I could’ve killed him. Oikawa, I might've....” 

Oikawa saw the panic on his face, and he put a firm hand on his back, the leather smooth on his fingers, steering him away from the starers. “Don’t do this here.” 

Iwaizumi hardened his expression again, and allowed Oikawa to lead him into Sugawara’s house. Oikawa's heart was beating fast, his mind folding over. He'd never seen Iwaizumi look this unsure of himself. As soon as they slipped through the doorway, the jeers fading out behind them, Oikawa latched the door shut, turning back to Iwaizumi. He stood hunched over, his arms pressed close to his chest, eyes riveted to the floor. Oikawa saw how quickly his breathing was - how shallow his chest sunk, and crossed over to him, acting on instinct. 

Tugging down his wrist, he gripped Iwaizumi's shaking hand in his, and Iwaizumi tried to yank it away, but he held on. 

“I could-“

“You won’t hurt anyone you don’t want to,” Oikawa told him. “You won’t hurt me. I know you well enough by now to say that much for certain.” 

“I can’t say that, and you can’t either,” Iwaizumi protested, half-heartedly trying to tug his hand free. “I was right. My grandma was right. I should’ve suppressed it even more.” 

Oikawa held on. He had to calm Iwaizumi down. “You don’t have a choice. Either you learn to control it fully, or it stays this way forever.” 

Iwaizumi's shoulders dropped, and he stopped resisting, fingers curling around Oikawa's. "I know." His voice was hollow, bouncing unnaturally off of the walls, and Oikawa squeezed his hand. 

"You'll learn to control it," he reassured him with a soft voice, and Iwaizumi exhaled, the sound audible in the empty room. 

“Can… can we stay here for a trok? I just need…"

Oikawa nodded, and Iwaizumi leaned forwards, dropping his forehead against Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa froze, feeling his pulse throb in his neck. Iwaizumi still hadn’t let go of his hand or given any indication that he wanted to pull away, and Oikawa didn’t want to either, wanted enough time to memorise the exact pattern of calluses on his palm. Iwaizumi's breath was hot, seeping warmth through oikawa's shirt, flushing up his neck. 

But it didn’t matter even if Iwaizumi liked him romantically too. He couldn’t have a relationship with him. It was too dangerous, and that risk wasn’t all in Oikawa’s head. He wasn’t sure if he could take losing another lover. 

Yet he didn’t have the heart to push Iwaizumi away. 

_Coward_ , his mind whispered. 

“You’ll be okay, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmured, brushing his free hand over Iwaizumi’s back. He rested it on the base of his neck, stroking the little stiff hairs that resided there.

He listened to Iwaizumi's rough breaths for an undiscernable length of time. 

With a sigh, Iwaizumi straightened up, his hand slipping out of Oikawa’s. “Thanks. I just - you know what I do…. but it’s terrifying to think that I might do it unintentionally. The choice to kill is taken from me.” 

He exhaled, closing his eyes, and it struck Oikawa just how dark his eyelashes were. Oikawa’s hand twitched, wanting to lift, to touch his cheek, but he kept it by his side. 

“You will learn to control it,” Oikawa repeated, desolate of anything else to say. 

Iwaizumi opened his eyes. “I will.”

His demeanour had changed again, the fleeting moment of doubt gone, and Oikawa started to wonder if it was really him who had the more effective mask. 

"Where did Suga go?" Iwaizumi inquired, already moving past him, searching another room. 

Swallowing, Oikawa followed him. He wanted to stay with Iwaizumi longer. He wanted him close to him again so badly it hurt his chest, as if his heart was trying to pump stones into his lungs, but he had a duty. They both did.

By the gods, he sounded like fucking Iwa-chan. 

"I think he went into the main room to find Daichi," he said.

Iwaizumi stopped, looking back at him with a frown. "Are you okay?"

"Why…" Oikawa suddenly realised how weak his voice sounded, and he inhaled, consciously pushing back his shoulders. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

He stared at Iwaizumi, daring him to challenge his words. He hadn’t realised he was relaxing this much around Iwaizumi, and he cursed himself for allowing himself to slip so easily. 

Something in the back of Oikawa’s mind nagged at him, insisting that it wasn’t him, that it was Iwaizumi learning to read him better, but he pushed it back. 

Iwaizumi's eyes narrowed. "You're lying to me." He extended a hand towards Oikawa's shoulder, but Oikawa smacked it away. 

"I am not, and if you think we have time to fucking argue over that, you're more stupid than I thought," Oikawa replied, and his sharpened voice sliced up his throat. 

Iwaizumi withdrew his hand, confusion passing over his face for a moment. "Yeah." His expression neutralised. "You're right."

He turned his back, and Oikawa bitterly praised himself for a job well done. 

"There you two are," Sugawara said with a smile, his hands resting in Daichi's.

A spike of jealousy wedged itself in between Oikawa's ribs. He knew it wasn't easy for them, with Suga believing Daichi was dead, but at least he had gotten him back. Oikawa had never been so lucky. 

They were seated at a circular table in the middle of the room, but Oikawa’s attention was drawn elsewhere, to the walls adorned with colour. As Oikawa’s gaze traced upwards, to the ceiling, he took in waves breaking out of pink clouds turning the sharp corners into soft spheres, of roses blooming from the wooden creases. He turned to the other side, and it was painted full of fire, ash and smoke, dead eyes glassed over. 

“Ah,” Sugawara mentioned. “I had to deal with Daichi’s violent passing somehow.” 

Daichi laced their fingers together, leaning over to kiss the edge of Sugawara’s mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“My love, did you forget we made that plan together?” Suga reminded him with a smile. “You can stop apologising, after all I’m as much to blame as you are. Perhaps more, if I know myself.” 

“I had no idea you could paint,” Iwaizumi said, gazing upwards. 

Sugawara chuckled. "Neither did I, until I started doing it. Sit down, you two."

A bang echoed behind them, and Tanaka burst down the corridor, cheeks reddened and eyes wide.

"Sugawara-san," he gasped out. "Some woman is here. She wants to meet with you, and I tried to stop her coming until I informed you, but she insisted on -"

The door opened behind him. 

Iwaizumi leapt out of his seat, his sword out in a heartbeat and levelling it at her chest from across the room. 

"Be careful with that." She smiled. "If I don't return, Aecus have orders to overwhelm this whole camp."

"Hello," Sugawara greeted her, rising from his seat and rounding the table. "Iwaizumi-san, you can drop your weapon. She organised this meeting some days in advance. Please, sit."

"What? Why?" Iwaizumi spat out. "She's a threat to this kingdom - I should kill her now. We can hold off Aecus. They'll wilt without a leader-"

"There are many more leaders ready and able to take my place." She passed by Iwaizumi, as unbothered as water flowing into a pool. It reminded Oikawa of how her oily Breath moved. "I suggest you leave now. That man can stay -" she nodded at Daichi, "If only to ensure no memory-meddling." 

"Why are you not surprised at us being here?" Oikawa inquired, laying a hand on Iwaizumi's shoulder. He was shaking. "You act like you expected us here. Sugawara, you didn't.."

Sugawara shook his head. "I may have agreed to a meeting, but I never told her anything." 

"My partner told me you would likely be here, but I have no need to kill you now. Any attempts to repossess the heir will fail, but, as I said before, he is safe. You have nothing to worry about." She turned from them to Sugawara, her back now facing them. 

"How did you know where we were?" Oikawa demanded. 

"I have a partner who is very good at…. Guessing, let's say. He even judged that you were still alive, and I thought that would've been one of the rare occasions he was wrong. It appears that I was the one in error." She squinted over her shoulder at Iwaizumi, golden eyes darkening. "You know that you're remarkably hard to kill, right?" 

"I'm aware. Third time lucky?" Iwaizumi suggested, advancing towards her. 

"Iwaizumi," Daichi said, his voice low. "This has been arranged. None of us are in any danger. You can relax." 

Iwaizumi's expression broke, his brow darkening. His words were forced out through clenched teeth. "Are you seriously asking me to relax around the woman who tried to kill me twice? And succeeded once?"

"I bet your revival would make for an interesting story, but we have no time for that now." She glanced over her shoulder at Oikawa. "I was promised an audience with Sugawara."

Iwaizumi started forwards, but Oikawa grasped his arm, holding him back. When he twisted around, shaking his arm, Oikawa held on tighter, levelling his stare. "Iwa-chan. Let’s go.”

"Iwaizumi, it's alright," Daichi assured him, leaning forwards and placing his forearms on the table. 

Clenching his jaw, Iwaizumi exhaled, and allowed Oikawa to lead him outside, sheathing his sword. 

"I know," Iwaizumi cut across him, his voice loud. "You don't have to explain our helplessness to me. It's just frustrating - we have her right there! If we could manage to take her hostage and approach Aecus, it could be what we need to get the heir back without any bloodshed."

Oikawa gazed at the door, chewing the side of his cheek. "I understand, but I don't think we could take her hostage. Even with Daichi and Sugawara to help, she killed you so easily before -"

"This time I'm ready," Iwaizumi argued back. "I know her weapons, her oil and sudden jumping from spot to spot. "

"And ways to counter them?" Oikawa raised his eyebrows, glancing over Iwaizumi. 

He was tense, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. "No, but I can avoid them."

"And if she has more abilities?"

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes. "Then we'll deal with them when they come."

Sighing, Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest. "Do I really have to convince you out of this? Are you that dense that you can't weigh up the risks for yourself?"

He was met with silence. 

"No," Iwaizumi said. "But I think it's worth the risk." 

"You might be prepared for her, but is she?" Oikawa inclined his head towards a nearby hut, where a woman was pouring tea, visible through the window. "Or him?" he asked, indicating towards a child, running across the green middle grounds. "Or them?" He gestured to a group of people walking by, chatting and laughing. 

"Do you think that she won't be willing to drag them into your fight?" 

Iwaizumi swallowed. “No.” 

"You worked hard to create this safety for them," Oikawa said softly. "Don't do this."

He wished he had a place like this to grow up in. He wished he had had the opportunity to settle somewhere and not be forced to hide his abilities. 

Iwaizumi took his hand off of his hilt. "Fine." He averted his gaze, looking out over the haphazard, skewed village, of the homes carved out of trees and dirt, of the playful spars that broke out, of people displaying their white without shame. Oikawa spotted a Bricker teasing others by grabbing onto their belt and pushing off the ground to shoot up into the air, the other yelping in shock. 

As soon as they landed again, the victim retaliated with a touch on their boot, melting it off into a penis-shaped pile of dirt. It seemed like all Shifters were little shits. Oikawa wondered if it was a coincidence that personalities matched abilities, or if personalities grew around them, or vice versa. 

Breathers were always smart, selfish or dead by fifteen. 

Of all the Brickers Oikawa had encountered, they were tricky, seemingly straightforward but quiet, waiting for the right moment to punch, whether it be a physical punch or a verbal one. 

He hadn’t come across many Fracturers, but he had heard accounts of the lesser trained ones destroying things they hadn’t meant to - varying from objects to people, and being driven mad by the guilt, locking themselves away in isolation. Then again, there were the ones who drank in the power with greed. 

Iwaizumi didn’t particularly fit the profile of any of them, but people rarely did. Yahaba was also difficult to pin down, but duogenii always were. When white mixed, it got messy, unpredictable. 

Oikawa drew his eyes over the profile of his face, down his cut jaw to his lifted chin, up over the curve of his set lips and straight nose to his eyes, creased and full of… longing? Oikawa couldn't tell exactly, but he knew he was full of thought, enough for him not to notice Oikawa's staring. 

Hopefully. 

Dipping his gaze, Oikawa dragged it back to the house beside them. He couldn’t hear anything, and he resisted the urge to use his Breath to heighten his senses, even if only for a few troks. 

“I’m going to visit Kyoutani,” Iwaizumi said. “See if he’s improved. I can't stand here and wait."

He began striding off to the east, and Oikawa paused, weighing up his options. He could stand here and be bored, or he could try to mingle with strangers, or go with Iwa-chan and visit Kyoutani and likely Yahaba. 

Within a few fast steps, he had caught up to Iwaizumi. He needed to say a proper goodbye to Yahaba anyways. Iwaizumi glanced over at him, but didn't comment. 

"I think this is Kyoutani and Yahaba's home," Iwaizumi said, knocking on the door. 

Yahaba opened the door. "Iwaizumi-san!" He flung a glance over his shoulder, and then half-closed the door, shaking his head. "This isn't the ideal time -"

Oikaw caught a glimpse of black, spiked hair through the gap, and a long hand wedged itself between the door and the frame, pulling it open again. 

"Come on, Yahaba, I like to entertain guests too…"

Iwaizumi cursed underneath his breath, and then Kuroo himself was looming up beside Yahaba. 

"Aha, just who I wanted to see," Kuroo grinned, raising a hand. "It's the man himself, who just beat down an innocent man in full view of everyone, the great and noble Iwaizumi Hajime. Did it feel good, watching him piss himself?"

"Do you want a rematch?" Iwaizumi lifted his eyebrows. "Because it sounds like you want a rematch."

"After what you did to poor Yamamoto? No thanks." Kuroo shook his head. "I like my shirt, you know." He eyed Iwaizumi, dropping his gaze to his hands. "Are you sure you want a rematch? It seems like your hands are giving you a bit of trouble. They look a bit shaky to me." 

Iwaizumi took a breath. "I just came to see how Kyoutani is getting along. You have Daichi back, there's no reason for you to be so…"

He gestured, searching for the right word. 

"Shitty," Oikawa provided, and Iwaizumi nodded. "Yeah. That."

Kuroo's eyes travelled an invisible line between them, and Oikawa suddenly realised how short that distance was, how close he was standing to Iwaizumi. Narrowing his eyes, he stared down Kuroo, daring him to say something. 

"You two are pretty cosy now, huh? Having a baby really does save a failing relationship. Speaking of the kid, where is he?" 

"Apologies, but that's not something for simple-minded bandits to know," Oikawa cut in, crossing his arms across his chest. "Let us in." 

"Of course, of course." Kuroo stood aside, and Yahaba's gaze stuck to him warningly. "I wasn't asking out of malice. I simply wanted to know how our beloved future king is doing. You don't have to be so hostile."

Exhaling roughly, Iwaizumi turned his back on Kuroo, and Kyoutani appeared at the end of the short hall, his natural scowl lifting once he saw Iwaizumi. 

"Didn't know if you'd come here," he said as they trouped into the kitchen, a small space for two, and even more cramped for five. Oikawa had to press back against the table to fit, his shoulder next to Iwaizumi's. Kuroo perched opposite them, reclining down into a chair, one foot up on the seat, a lethargic arm draped over his bent knee. His gaze never left Iwaizumi. 

"I wouldn't go without saying goodbye," Iwaizumi told Kyoutani, and Kuroo chuckled. 

"That's more than I got with Sawamura. You should feel lucky, Kyo-kun." 

Iwaizumi closed his eyes, and Yahaba nudged Kuroo with an elbow, his eyes sharpening. "Maybe tone it down a bit, Kuroo-san." 

"Why? Look at him, he's not going to do anything," Kuroo observed, hanging his hands on his waist, leaning forwards. "He's scared of himself -"

“Shut up,” Kyoutani said strongly. “Nobody wants to hear you talk.”

"Stop," Yahaba repeated. "I won't stand by and let you provoke him further. Iwaizumi-san is a good man. He doesn't deserve the hard time you're giving him."

"I'm not giving him a hard time. I'm just saying the truth." Kuroo shrugged. "They lost the heir, Iwaizumi's losing control of his powers, and Oikawa.." he waved a hand in the air. "He's stagnant. The only change I've seen in him is a loss of confidence. Last time I saw him, he couldn't interrupt me enough. Now look at him. He's just standing there, taking this."

Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest. "When you say something worth responding to, let me know." 

"Let's go, Kyoutani," Iwaizumi told him, gaze bypassing Kuroo. "Now that I have two hands again, I can demonstrate some more complex grapples better. And I'll show you some stuff you can practice even when I'm gone. Tanaka would probably be willing to practice with you if you asked."

"You sure you wanna do that, Kyo-kun? He might just vapourise you.” 

“Piss off,” Kyoutani grumbled, shouldering past him.

“Oh, ignoring your problems. Smart," Kuroo commented, watching as Iwaizumi wordlessly followed Kyoutani, the muscles in his neck taut. 

"How did you fail to get him angry?" Oikawa asked, keeping his voice light as the door shut. "You must be losing your touch. Back in the cave, you got him out of control easily." 

"Hm, from the looks of it, he doesn't need me to do that anymore." Kuroo took out a dagger, flipping it around his hand as if there was nothing more natural. "So how does it feel, travelling with the equivalent of twelve loose canons?"

Evening out his breathing, Oikawa took a quick moment to still himself. Kuroo wasn't getting to him. Glancing over at Yahaba, seeing his little shake of his head, fluffy hair shifting to the side, calmed him. 

"You think highly of his power. I'll make sure to pass that compliment onto him," Oikawa said, and to his own ears, his voice was as smooth and feathery as a dreef's skin. He thought he saw Kuroo's eye twitch, but perhaps that was only wishful thinking. He leaned back on the table, the image of relaxation, maintaining eye contact to the ink-like irises. 

"Happy to hear that," Kuroo said, dropping his gaze to dig dirt out of his fingernails with the tip of his blade. "But, if you'll pardon my rudeness, you never answered my question. I'm only curious to hear what it feels like when your partner could disintegrate you with a misplaced touch."

"I'm sorry, do I look concerned? I trust him." Oikawa spoke without thinking, but as soon as the words left his lips, he knew they were true. "Something you'll never know how to do."

"I trusted what I saw, and turns out that was wrong." Kuroo's voice held an edge of anger, and his dagger slipped, leaving a little line of crimson across the side of his finger. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, his gaze ripping back up to Oikawa's. 

"You forget, I trusted and believed Sawamura was dead for three years. That grief doesn't go away because he's miraculously risen from the dead," Kuroo spat out. "Did you know that Suga couldn't alter the memories of everyone here? So he chose a few key people that everyone would believe to witness the fight. Yamamoto was one of them. So was I. It's just kind of hard to get over the fact that your memory of your best friend being beheaded is fake, you know? So excuse me if I vent a bit instead of outright killing Iwaizumi." 

Yahaba grimaced, looking at the ground. "I don't think that's fair on him. He protected Daichi-san by doing what he did." 

Kuroo's eyes flashed dark. "You spend a few weeks with him, and suddenly he's the good guy in this? The guy who has killed more magickers than any other shitty little soldier of the king's? Who covered Sawamura's apparent death charade? I'm not even fucking sure if that is Sawamura yet, since Suga has decieved us before and -" He cut himself off, his voice breaking. "I don't know even if I can trust my own memories of Sawamura to make sure that it really is him." 

Oikawa's mouth twisted. "That's no excuse to take it out on other people."

"I don't," Kuroo answered. "I only take it out on people who've had a hand to play in it. You don't see me attacking Yahaba, do you?" He held a hand over his heart, eyes flat. "I do have something in my chest, you know. Just not for murderers."

Oikawa lunged forwards, seizing him by the front of his cloak. He saw Kuroo's eyes narrow, his smirk widen, and with a horrible chill, Oikawa realised he'd been baited. With a noise of disgust, Oikawa dropped his hand, stepping back.

"Iwaizumi doesn't deserve this shit, and neither do I. Get out."

"Strong fighting words from a supposed diplomat. You should know your bargaining power better than this, O Asshole Negotiator of the Kingdom. It's not your house," Kuroo replied, holding up his hands and shrugging. "I'm afraid you can't do anything. Isn't that right, Yahaba?"

"Leave him out of this," Oikawa cut across him. "He has nothing at all to do with this."

"Oh, I beg to think differently." Kuroo turned his head to Yahaba, who was chewing his lower lip. "You know all of us pretty well, wouldn't you say? Which one of us do you want to leave? Your asshole mentor, or an old friend?” 

Fighting the urge to grab Kuroo again, Oikawa steadied himself. "You're a piece of shit."

Kuroo grinned. "And as I recall, so are you." 

Oikawa's jaw clenched, and he put back his shoulders. "Yahaba-kun, it's okay. I'm going to go see how Iwa-chan is doing."

"It's…" Yahaba faltered. He clenched his fists. "Kuroo-san, I think you should leave."

For an instant, Oikawa got the satisfaction of seeing Kuroo's demeanour break, his eye widening. "What?"

"I said what I said." Yahaba stood firm, chin high. "As long as they're here, I don't want you in my house. You can antagonise them outside of these walls, I don't care. But not here." 

"Fine." Kuroo pushed off of the chair, deliberate and slow. Every movement was like a snake uncoiling, and Oikawa hated how on edge it made him feel, his Breath instinctively rising to rest on his tongue. Kuroo spread his hands, walking down the corridor to the main door. "But soon they'll be gone, and you'll be left with us." 

The door shut. 

Yahaba exhaled, and Oikawa looked over at him, a guilt weighing in his lungs like burnt coal, so black it was suffocating. " You didn't have to do that, I would've left."

"I know." Yahaba sighed. "But he gets like this sometimes, when he's emotional... He goes too far - you saw what he was like in the cave. I don't think he knows another way to deal with how he's feeling." 

He turned his grey eyes to Oikawa. "Are you really leaving?"

Oikawa nodded. "We have to get the heir back."

A smile tugged at Yahaba's mouth. "You sound like Iwaizumi-san." 

Oikawa stuck out his tongue. "Ew. I don't want to be all 'duty this' and 'duty that'."

"I don't think you need to worry about that," Yahaba reassured him with a light smile. "But back there… you called him Iwaizumi, not Iwa-chan."

Oikawa glanced to the side. "I guess… " He found himself wordless. Why had he done that?

"I guess I forgot," he said, and it convinced neither of them. He rubbed his arm, and gestured to the outside door. "Since today is our last day seeing each other, do you want some last minute tips?"

Yahaba broke out into a smile. "Thank you, Oikawa-san."

"Oikawa is fine. Fuck all those formalities. Oh, I have to teach you the Breather swear words as well! Get some paper and ink, would you?" 

Oikawa watched Iwaizumi's face as she left - walked right out, certain of no danger. His eyes drew downwards, a flash of black that shouldn't be there on her ankle, and Oikawa frowned. That patch definitely had been darker than a normal shadow. 

Iwaizumi's brow was low, his frown more prominent than usual, and Oikawa felt aware of his hand, wanting to slap Iwaizumi's back, but his mind knew better. That sort of careless actions had landed him in this position in the first place. 

So he waited beside Iwaizumi, not a word passed between them, as she became a figure among the trees, and then vanished. 

"I understand why you stopped me from fighting her," Iwaizumi said slowly. "But something tells me that leaving her go was more dangerous."

"Let's hope not." 

Daichi glanced up as they entered, standing by the table, hands on his hips. 

"She gave us a lot to think about," he told them, and Iwaizumi's eyes narrowed. 

"How so?"

"Since we're magickers like her, she's offering us an alliance. Protection from any bandit attacks."

"Why would you need that? You have strong fighters here," Iwaizumi pointed out. 

"For now." Suga's face grew serious. "If nobody is in charge to push the bandits back, they will slowly overwhelm Katachi. And as I mentioned before, some of our numbers already agree with her agenda. Torem's policies were hated by many magickers, and for good reason. Not everyone was lucky enough to be born with white that could be easily hidden."

Oikawa settled himself down beside Suga, crossing his legs, ears wide open. Things were shifting in the kingdom, and he had to choose his new place in it. He wasn't going back to those days of trying to blend in with normal humans. He knew better now. 

"She gave us an offer." Daichi's voice was heavy, and Suga's hand sought his arm. "We can join her, or once she gains more strength, she'll force us to join her."

"With what strength? Does she really think that she can recruit those bandits from Awero?" Iwaizumi's voice was disgusted. “Have you forgotten the last time we were at the border? One tried to rip out your guts and roast your stomach.”

“I haven’t, it’s quite difficult to forget that,” Daichi admitted. “I’ve been trying. But the point is that if she manages to get even a few, she’ll gain numbers over us, not to mention the advantage of having the castle.” 

"I think her aim is to try and bring magickers and humans together into a society again," Suga theorised. "If she can raise the heir, the humans will respect her - after all, Tobio is the one meant to hold the kingdom right now. But she needs to hold off the bandits somehow, whether it be with military force or a treaty."

"So she wants us to risk our lives for her to be safe in Torem's castle?" Iwaizumi shook his head. "I don't think so."

"I don't like the idea either," Daichi admitted.

"Oikawa, you've been quiet all this time," Suga mentioned, gaze floating over to him. "What are your thoughts? You know Torem's past treaties, do you think she'll be able to continue with them?"

"I'd have to talk to her more to make a proper judgement," Oikawa answered. "But the Westland lords won't respect a treaty with a dead king if she's weaker than them. What would be the point of peace if they can invade land unopposed? And I tied in the treaty with Torem's bloodline- she couldn't take advantage of them even if she wanted to."

He frowned, trying to remember the exact wording of the contracts. Was it possible for her to bargain with them if she had the heir? Was that why she was so desperate to get her hands on Tobio?

"Which is why she needs magickers on her side. Even those bastards would pause at the notion of facing soldiers with white." Iwaizumi exhaled. "I hate to admit it, but she took the right approach. The regular people won't follow her willingly - I doubt the king's armies like having Aecus around - and without a proper force to dissuade them, her little quest would be decimated before it even begun." 

Oikawa frowned. "You keep saying she doesn't have strength. Aren't Aecus strong?"

"Strong, but not enough to keep a close grip on the whole kingdom. They're made up of Puhro - Kyoutani's race - and magickers, mostly. The difference is, in the North magickers aren't feared. But they're mostly content to do their own thing. I don't know how she managed to convince them to help her overthrow Torem."

"At this point, it doesn't matter how," Daichi reminded him. "We have to bring this to the Form and decide whether to join her or not."

"Is that even a choice?" Iwaizumi spat out. "There's no way we're joining her."

"That's for Flightless to decide." Daichi glanced over to Suga. "And for the Form, too."

"I will speak to everyone about it," Suga said quietly. He brightened up. "In the meantime, why don't I show you to your beds? We have a whole empty cottage from someone who left, I think you'll like it there."

Oikawa's back very much agreed with the idea of sleeping in a proper bed for once. Turning to Iwaizumi, who had his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze stuck to the table's surface, he gave no indication he had even heard Suga. Oikawa nudged him. 

"Wake up, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi blinked, his eyes dropping back into the present. "Sorry. I was just… fuck." He ran a hand back through his hair. "How long do we have?"

"A few weeks, at least. It hasn't been long since the revolt and the Westland lords won't make any hasty moves," Daichi answered, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. "I'll handle things here. You bring the news to the Form and I'll join you as soon as I can. For now, rest."

Iwaizumi nodded, and Suga got up, smiling at them. "Try not to start a fight with anyone else on the way, Iwaizumi."

"That wasn't my fault," Iwaizumi protested, and Daichi huffed. "You didn't have to accept his challenge."

"It was a matter of pride," Iwaizumi shot back, and Daichi only gave him an incredulous look. 

"You like to show off, don't pretend it was anything other than that. Say, remember that time when we were in that inn near Bunt and you decided to try and antagonise the biggest guy there to catch the eye of the pretty lady with auburn hair? How did that work out for you again?"

"Just fine," Iwaizumi insisted. "They're still together, as far as we know, right? I made two people happy that night."

Daichi laughed. "Is that how you recall it? I remember you being sad that -"

"Suga! Can you show us to the hut?" Iwaizumi interrupted, a low red crossing his cheeks. 

"No, please continue," Oikawa said, and Iwaizumi threw a warning look over to Daichi. "Do not. Don't you have things to do? After all, you've been away for three years."

"Yes," Suga chirped out. "Lots of things. Most importantly, me. So I'll show you two out now, if you don't mind." 

“Suga!” 

"Here we are," Suga sang out, unlocking the door and gesturing them inside first. 

Like most of the other huts, it was simple, but spacious, and a hell of a lot better than sleeping under a tree again. 

It wasn't one of the bigger single beds, like the one Daichi had arranged for them, or Matsukawa's self-crafted one. This was a skinny single bed, and Oikawa saw that there wasn't even enough space for both of them to lie on their backs, even if their sides were pressing together. 

"Daichi said you would be okay with one bed," Suga informed them, and Iwaizumi met Oikawa's eyes. 

They sighed almost in sync. 

"Yeah, it'll do."

"As long as you don't snore, Iwa-chan." 

"Fuck off. I don't snore." 

Later that night, Oikawa tossed over, poking Iwaizumi in his shoulder. "Hey."

"You couldn't just let me sleep for one night, could you?" Iwaizumi muttered out, but he turned over, tucking one arm under his head. The bottom part of his mark was just about visible, peeping out from under his chin. "What?"

"That guy who challenged you earlier," Oikawa said, trying not to think about how solid Iwaizumi's arm looked. "Why did you go so hard on him?"

Iwaizumi shrugged. "He deserved to learn a few things. There's nothing more stunting to growth than being the strongest person in your area. He needed to see that he has to learn more. That was the most effective way." 

"If you didn't break his spirit after that humiliation," Oikawa mentioned. "I've seen better fighters give up after that sort of public defeat."

"I didn't mean to go as far as I did." Iwaizumi paused, then cracked a smile. "Still, it wasn't my fault he pissed himself." 

Recalling the slow spreading dark spot, Oikawa couldn't help himself grinning back. "That piss boy won't be in a rush to start another fight." 

Iwaizumi chuckled, a sound that expanded to fill up the room, and Oikawa felt a warmth blaze in his chest. "At least he only metaphorically shit himself."

"Did it feel good?" Oikawa asked.

"You mean, making someone piss themselves?"

"Overwhelming someone that much, even if it was with power you didn't intend to use."

Iwaizumi hesitated, eyelashes flickering downwards in thought. “No. Kuroo was right, it scared me more than it did him. I don't want to have a weapon I can't control."

“Kuroo tells the truth,” Oikawa admitted. "It hurts me to give that shihead credit, but he's good at what he does."

“What he does? Being a _pleeth_ head?” 

“Exactly. The best things to attack are what the other person knows already, but is scared to admit."

“Actually, speaking of that, you’ve forgotten to be a dickhead lately.” Iwaizumi smiled. “Thought I’d just remind you.”

“I - what? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Night.”

Iwaizumi turned over again. It took Oikawa a trok - but had Iwaizumi just winked at him before moving? Had he had the nerve to-? 

“Iwaizumi!” Oikawa shoved his finger against the middle of Iwaizumi’s back. “Don’t go to sleep without answering me!” 

“Piss off,” Iwaizumi grumbled. “I want to sleep.” 

Oikawa propped himself up on his elbow, feeling his lower lip slide out into a pout. “Iwaiz - Iwa-chan, don’t be like this.” 

Iwaizumi raised his head sleepily, regarding Oikawa out of the corner of his eye, just over his shoulder. 

“I meant that you’re forgetting to be an asshole. When was the last time you even tried to humiliate Yahaba?”

Oikawa thought back for a trok. “You’re right, it has been far too long.” 

He heard Iwaizumi snort. “Is the thought of being actually tolerable so bad to you?” 

“This is who I am, Iwa-chan.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Asshole,” Oikawa muttered. 

This time Iwaizumi did turn over again, sitting up fully, blankets sliding down to his waist. It was very, very hard for Oikawa not to draw his gaze up over the shape of his torso. “You’re not going to let this go, are you? Can't I say something without being cross-examined on it?"

Oikawa’s breath stumbled in his throat, and he looked down at his hands. “You may believe I pretend to be horrible, but I don’t. It’s how I am.”

"Well, I don't think that." Iwaizumi’s fingertips hovered over the back of Oikawa's hand, tentatively brushing over his knuckles. It always surprised Oikawa at how light his touch was, how it was to the rough texture of his skin. “Thank you for calming me down today.”

"What can I say, I don't fancy the idea of being vapourised," Oikawa replied dryly, and Iwaizumi withdrew his hand, his shoulders hunching up. 

"Yeah… I shouldn't be touching you, sh-"

"By the gods, Iwa-chan, I was joking," Oikawa said, sniggering. "You really do have a simple mind." 

Iwaizumi tapped a finger against Oikawa's head. "Watch what you say, or I might just decide to fracture you someday."

"Ha! As if," Oikawa scoffed. "You can't harm a god, you poor misguided cretin." 

His eyes were drawn to the section of Iwaizumi's hair, where he knew white was matted beneath the spikes of ink. "No matter how big your mark is." 

"If it's to get rid of you, it's worth trying."

Oikawa lost track of time. He and Iwaizumi spoke far too long, far too openly, and the little, subtle thrill running through Oikawa was becoming far too noticeable. He could feel himself slipping a little bit more with every lilt of Iwaizumi's voice, every time his eyes creased up in amusement, even the way the corners of his mouth pulled down as he frowned. Every part Oikawa saw, every new piece of Iwaizumi was fitting together to a complete picture, a picture that Oikawa wasn't quite sure what meant to him yet. 

"Fuck you," Iwaizumi said to Oikawa as soon as he woke up. He blinked, trying to concentrate enough to move his head to the side.

He heard Oikawa huff out an indignant breath, warm against his ear. "You kept me up as well, moron. Don't you dare transfer all the blame onto me. And you snored.”

Iwaizumi groaned, hauling himself upwards. “I didn’t snore.” 

He had dreamt badly. The loss of control, the nearness of killing someone, punched far too close to what had happened before, accidentally murdering those who just didn't understand. Absently, Iwaizumi rubbed a palm down his shoulder, as if he could shear away the powers physically. 

It hadn’t helped that the space on the bed was so constricted that every motion Iwaizumi made had to be careful, not to fall off the side or to touch Oikawa’s skin. 

To his right, Oikawa slipped out of bed, and Iwaizumi couldn’t help his gaze racing down the expanse of his back, and suspected that it was the most bare he’d ever see Oikawa. 

No matter what he said, it seemed Oikawa was intent on staying closed up. Even last night, Oikawa was dodging past questions with his usual lighthearted tone, and it annoyed Iwaizumi. He ached to know Oikawa better, to see what was going on deeper. 

Now that he knew of Oikawa’s Breathing scars, he could pick out thin slices of white along his arms, usually lengthways, so narrow that they were invisible to a quick glance. They blended into his skin, and Iwaizumi had to wonder if breathing scars were different from regular scars. His hand ghosted across his chest, where there should be a massive scar, but there wasn’t, due to Oikawa’s skill. Iwaizumi was fairly sure that some old scars too had faded, ones that hadn’t changed in two decades. 

His eyes landed on Oikawa’s neck, the disfigured line of risen flesh left by Yahaba’s handiwork. 

Oikawa glanced over his shoulder at him, and, realising where his gaze was, covered it with his hand. "Admiring his work? It's going to stay with me for life." 

His shoulders dipped, and he increased his grip on the side of his neck. "I suppose I should've taught him earlier. Maybe then I wouldn't have this ugly scar."

Iwaizumi's chest tightened, but Oikawa didn't give him the chance to say anything more. 

"Oh well," Oikawa continued lightly, standing up. "That's what I get. Iwa-chan, make my day and tell me that there's meat for breakfast."

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?"

"Because you're arranging it, of course." Oikawa reached behind his head, drawing his hair back over his shoulders, ash brown melding into his sallow skin. Iwaizumi tried not to notice the subtle movement of his biceps as he lifted his arms and instead on Oikawa being… Oikawa. 

Seemed like Oikawa took his words about not being a bastard as often to heart, and had planned immediate steps to rectify it. Iwaizumi suddenly regretted saying anything to him about it. 

"No, we don't have time to waste doing that. We'll say goodbye, and hunt on the way." 

"Like common bandits, you mean." Oikawa made a 'pfft' noise, buttoning up his shirt. It fitted him nicely, almost as if -

"Did you get that shirt made for you?" Iwaizumi questioned, the words tumbling out too freely. 

Oikawa blinked, brushing a hand self-consciously over the fabric. "Yes… why?" 

"It fits you well," Iwaizumi said, tracing how the fabric around the upper arms was slightly loose. Had Oikawa gotten thinner since the start of their travelling? He thought so, although he hadn't taken much notice of how he had looked at the start.

"Okay," Oikawa answered, tilting his head, hand settling on one hip. "Why are you complimenting me? What do you want?"

"Nothing." Iwaizumi's heartbeat felt like it was hot, pulsing hard in his neck. "It's just true." 

"Ah, I've got it. And I'm not going to forget about the promised meat," Oikawa informed him, waggling his finger at him. "No matter how much you flatter me."

"I didn't promise shit."

"You promised." 

Oikawa never thought he'd actually be sad to see the last of Yahaba. 

And, for once, standing there, he didn't know quite what to say, which was a new and uncomfortable experience for him. It was a dull, grey day, with cool mist climbing into Oikawa's skin, clammy and damp against his face. 

"Is this ...it?" Yahaba asked, and Oikawa spread his hands. 

"This definitely isn't the last you'll hear of me," he announced. "By the time you see me next, I'll have gathered up even more titles." 

Yahaba smiled, a smile of affection. "I will hold you to that, Oikawa-senpai. And the next time you see me, it’ll be to hear of my achievements.”

Glancing over at Iwaizumi and Kyoutani, Oikawa saw them fighting bare-handed, and, as he watched, Iwaizumi grabbed Kyoutani and flipped him over his hip, slamming him into the ground. Kyoutani landed square on his back, but not a moment after he hit the ground, his hands reached behind his shoulders, his knee tucking into his stomach for a trok before launching himself back up onto his feet. Oikawa could hear Iwaizumi's praise from here, even as he attempted to punch Kyoutani square in the face.

"Looks like they're saying goodbye, too," Yahaba observed. “Oh - your bow! I'll go get it-”

“Keep it,” Oikawa told him. “Something tells me that you’ll have more use for it than Iwa-chan.”

"Really?"

"Really."

"Thank you."

"All I ask of you in return is to build a shrine for me, right over there," Oikawa pointed to the middle of the clearing. "It doesn't have to be tall, just about twice my height -" He stopped, seeing movement out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, it seems like your old friend is bidding us goodbye as well."

Yahaba turned, and cursed. "Ah, shit." He quickly launched into a jog, going over to where Kyoutani and Iwaizumi were still engaged, unaware of Kuroo and Daichi approaching them. 

Kyoutani saw them first, and tapped Iwaizumi on the arm. "Kuroo's here."

Iwaizumi straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest as he faced them. "Daichi, Kuroo. Good morning." He nodded at Kuroo. "What brings you here? I'd hazard a guess that you wouldn't want to see my face ever again."

Kuroo regarded Iwaizumi, eye flat as the horizon. "Sawamura thinks that I should apologise to you."

Daichi hit him hard with his elbow, and Kuroo threw his eyes up to the sky. "Ah, well, actually, I think that I should apologise to you." 

"It's alright," Iwaizumi said. "I know how harrowing it must've been. I don't hold any grudges for reacting the way you did. If I thought you had killed him, I would probably have hunted you down until you were dead."

Daichi broke into a laugh, leaning back with his hands on his waist. "Well, that's comforting to know. How come you didn't do the same, Tetsurou?"

"I nearly killed him, but he showed me the brand on his arm," Kuroo admitted, gaze sliding over to Daichi’s arm. "Otherwise at least one of us would be dead."

"And it would be you," Iwaizumi told him. 

Kuroo lifted an eyebrow, his fingers pattering along the hilt of his dagger. "Wanna test that theory out?" 

Daichi moved in between them, slapping both of them on their shoulders with a painful smacking sound, both stumbling forwards a step. "Now, now, guys, get along. We're all on the same side."

Iwaizumi and Kuroo eyed each other, but Kuroo slid his dagger back, and Iwaizumi took his hand away from his hilt. 

"Now, show some respect," Daichi instructed, and, stiffly, Iwaizumi and Kuroo laid hands on each other's forearms, standing as far away as possible from each other. 

Clapping his hands, Daichi nodded proudly. "Thank you, Iwaizumi, Tetsurou."

"Are you really suspicious that he isn’t the real Daichi anymore?" Iwaizumi asked, and Kuroo's eyebrow twitched. 

"You're right. No other man could get me to tolerate you."

Kuroo’s gaze skipped over to Daichi, and Oikawa noticed his iris lowering, skimming down the profile of Daichi’s face. Just like he had done with Iwaizumi earlier. 

Oh. 

Oikawa didn’t draw any conclusions. He could've mistaken the glance, Kuroo could've been checking something else out beyond Daichi, but… his hostility towards Iwaizumi certainly made more sense.

He shot a look over to Kyoutani, who was glaring at Kuroo, not even bothering to hide his dislike. Sighing, Yahaba leaned over to Oikawa, murmuring, "They never got on. Even though Kyoutani never really got along with anyone, Kuroo especially. He riles him up too much, and Kyoutani never accepts his apologies." 

Oikawa could see that. Kyoutani's wariness was almost visible on his skin, a sort of wave over his body, directed at Kuroo. 

Iwaizumi only nodded, folding his arms over his chest. "Well, we'll just stay out of each other's way and we'll be fine."

"For once, we're in agreement," Kuroo replied, hand on his hip. Daichi gave him a warning glance, and Kuroo only shrugged, holding up his hands. "Hey, I apologised."

"Good luck on your journey," Kyoutani bade Iwaizumi. "Not that you need it. Oikawa might." 

Iwaizumi barked out a laugh. "You truly are my disciple. Hey, if you see Bokuto around, tell him I said hello, alright? And you keep practicing. You'll be great someday, I can see it."

Ears reddening, Kyoutani nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. Oikawa caught a little smile on Yahaba's face. 

"You'll both be great someday," Oikawa added in. "A powerful couple, trained by legends." 

Kyoutani looked doubtful, but Yahaba glowed, outstretching his arms. "Goodbye, Oikawa-senpai, and thank you."

"I hope it was worth it?"

"Just about. At the very least, I don't think Tanaka's lessons will be as scary." 

"I could beat him now," Kyoutani declared, and Daichi huffed. "Oh, he'll be more than happy to take you up on that challenge. Iwaizumi, Oikawa, if there's anything more we can do for you, just let us know. Don't hesitate, okay?"

Iwaizumi nodded beside him, and Oikawa tilted his head back. "I don't think we'll need anything."

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi hissed out, clasping Daichi's hands. "Don't be rude."

"I'm not. I'm stating a fact," Oikawa defended himself, and Daichi chuckled. "You're just as prickly as Iwaizumi said you were." 

Oikawa turned his eyes to Iwaizumi, who avoided his gaze. "Prickly? Are you talking shit about me behind my back?"

"No," Iwaizumi denied. "I talk shit about you in front of you."

After one last round of goodbyes, they trudged through the camp. Oikawa's feet didn't like the idea of hiking another few days and sleeping on burnt leaves and stones, but Iwaizumi assured him that they were close, the Form's hideout placed about halfway between the castle and Flightless. They would have to be on guard of scouts from Aecus questioning them and possibly recognising them, but Oikawa was confident that he could talk his way around a man or two. 

Although they'd mostly travelled in silence before, it felt different without Yahaba. It felt thicker, like tree sap oozing into Oikawa's ears, stuffing up his mouth every time he tried to think of something to say. Iwaizumi didn't seem affected, heading along like he always did, looking straight ahead and always keeping the same pace, occasionally springing up over higher mounds of grass or small rocks. 

It was a relief when the sky began dimming, Oikawa's eyes adapting to the fuzziness that accompanied darkness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Iwaizumi glance upwards, to the grey clouds above them. 

"If we find somewhere to settle for the night soon, we can train a bit before sleeping," he suggested, and Oikawa nodded. 

Iwaizumi surveyed him. "Are you alright? You've been… quiet."

"Why do you sound so grateful?" Oikawa challenged him, and Iwaizumi put up his hands, a little smile quirking the edges of his mouth upwards. 

"I thought you might be missing Yahaba, that's all." Iwaizumi stopped, examining the area around them. "We should be okay here."

It didn't look any different from any other patch of grass surrounding them on the vast, flat plain, but Iwaizumi had better instincts than him at this sort of thing. 

"If you say so," Oikawa replied, feeling his shoulders ache as he slipped off his bags. 

Iwaizumi gave him another look, but didn't say anything. Oikawa dumped himself on the ground, resting his head on his arms, slung over his bent knees. Iwaizumi was right. He missed Yahaba - and fuck, he hadn't gotten any better at distancing himself from people. Even when trying to be a bastard to them (which admittedly, a part of himself enjoyed, and it was easy to overindulge) he ended up being fond of people. He didn't dare to think about how much he'd miss Iwaizumi if they parted, which was looking more and more likely. Oikawa only had a debt to the king and his son, nothing more. Once that was fulfilled, he had to leave. The longer he put it off, the more painful it would be for him. 

"Hey."

Oikawa felt something sharp prodding his shoulder, and he lifted his foggy head to see Iwaizumi pointing the end of a staff at him. 

"Spar with me. You'll feel better than thinking too much." 

"I'm honoured that you assume I can think, never mind too much," Oikawa answered, and Iwaizumi snorted, this time holding out his hand. "Either way, bashing a stick around will help, trust me." 

Sighing, Oikawa had to fight off a smile as he took Iwaizumi's hand, being gently pulled to his feet again. "If you were kind, Iwa-chan, you'd let me win this time. It would really help me feel better, ease the pain of losing Yahaba-kun."

Iwaizumi handed him another staff. "If you were better, I won't have to let you win. Try sucking less." 

"Excellent advice," Oikawa told him. "I can't believe I never thought of that before! You're so smart!"

Oikawa barely had time to finish his sentence before Iwaizumi lunged at him, driving his shoulder into his chest. Stumbling back, but managing to keep his balance, Oikawa scowled at Iwaizumi, who was chuckling. "Too easy. Give me a challenge, would you?"

A tingling rose in Oikawa's limbs, a new energy as he straightened up, feeling a grin cross his face. "You cheated," he proclaimed, grasping his staff tighter. "You can't attack me mid-"

Iwaizumi leapt forwards again, and Oikawa jerked back, but it was only a feint, Iwaizumi's laughter breaking over Oikawa's reddening ears. 

"As I said, too easy." Iwaizumi flipped his staff around his body, making the seamless, fluid movement look simple. 

"Fuck you," Oikawa bit back through his smile. He wasn't going to let Iwaizumi surprise him this time. 

And although Oikawa wouldn't admit it, it did help. He didn't have time to consider Aecus' actions, Yahaba's future, or how he brought such misfortune onto a child, or how dangerously comfortable he was becoming around Iwaizumi, when bruises were being knocked into his body as soon as his concentration dropped for a trok. 

After a while, Oikawa halted, and Iwaizumi did likewise, forehead creasing as he lowered his staff. "Is something wrong?"

"I saw how you fought that man," Oikawa said. "You spar with me as if you're sparring with a child."

Iwaizumi shook his head. "It's the level of skill you're at. I adapt to it. You learn nothing if you cannot even put up a fight."

"I learn nothing if I'm not fighting someone stronger," Oikawa protested. 

"I am stronger, I'm just not overwhelming you," Iwaizumi pointed out. "You are improving, aren't you? You told me not to overexert myself with my power - I'm telling you now, if I attack you like I did him, you would only learn how quickly you would go down in a fight against a master. Nothing else." 

Oikawa raised his staff. "What if I want to know that?" 

"Then it would be a waste of our time," Iwaizumi replied, but he smiled, angling his own staff and sinking down into a stance. "On the other hand, this won't take long."

Oikawa tilted his head, twirling his staff around the back of his hand. "That's very presumptuous of you, don't you think?"

Iwaizumi snorted. "We'll see." 

Snapping forwards, Iwaizumi's staff clattered against Oikawa's, and Oikawa forced it to the side, giving himself a trok to Breathe. 

He curled his Breath around Iwaizumi's ankle and yanked it towards him, sending him teetering backwards. He recovered faster than Oikawa expected, barely able to deflect his next attack, but blocked nonetheless. Twisting around, he jabbed the top of his staff in between Oikawa’s wrist and his own one, and in one quick jerk ripped it out of his grip, using his momentum to fling it into the bushes. Oikawa's palms smarted, and he attempted to retreat, but Iwaizumi had already swung up his staff, lunging forwards in one swift motion that had his staff at Oikawa's neck.

The circular side of his staff pressed in under Oikawa's chin. The fight had lasted a matter of troks. 

"About that fast," Iwaizumi told him, his wrists level with Oikawa’s shoulders. 

Oikawa raised his chin, unable to stop a smirk forming on his lips. "I almost had you."

One edge of Iwaizumi's mouth lifted. "Almost. But almost isn't good enough. In a real fight, you'd be dead." 

Using his Breath, Oikawa cut down the middle of his staff. As Iwaizumi lowered it, it came away in two, clean, even parts. 

“Are you sure about that?” 

“I’m supposed to be instructing you how to fight without your Breath,” Iwaizumi reminded him, tapping the cut end against Oikawa’s chest. “You rely on one tool too much, it’ll kill you.”

"I'm well aware of that. You don't have to be so dramatic about it."

Oikawa was also aware that Iwaizumi hadn't stepped away, less than a handspan between their bodies. He felt comfortable with that. Too comfortable. 

"You're calling me dramatic? The one who made his apprentice kiss his hand?"

"That wasn't dramatic, that was narcissism," Oikawa mentioned, and Iwaizumi huffed, his breath ghosting against Oikawa's chin and upper neck. He sometimes forgot that Iwaizumi was shorter than him, but when this close, when directly next to each other, he saw the slight difference, how his eyeline met the bottom of Iwaizumi's eyebrows, how the middle of Iwaizumi's mouth aligned with the end of Oikawa's lip. It would take such little effort, be so easy to lean a fraction downwards and forwards, and know once and for all what Iwaizumi's skin felt like, what he kissed like.

Iwaizumi turned around, and Oikawa blinked, his fantasy fading away. 

"Well, for whatever reason, it definitely humbled him," Iwaizumi concluded, picking up Oikawa's lost staff. "Will we start a fire? I'm starving."

Oikawa agreed, and before long they were sitting by the heat, watching as the pink rays bathed the tree tops around them. Without Yahaba, it felt… different. As if he was a buffer. Whenever Oikawa felt uncomfortable, he could always have turned to Yahaba to tease or berate or train, avoiding any deeper turns of the conversation with Iwaizumi. Oikawa feared that he might not be able to talk his way out of a situation, and he might end up getting more attached. Without Yahaba here, he might not want to avoid talking to Iwa-chan more. 

He feared it was already too late to detach. 

Iwaizumi spread out his fingers over the fire, releasing a deep sigh of content. The orange washed over his features, and he looked content, as if he was born for nothing more than this moment. Oikawa ached to reach for him, warm his hands in his, but he'd sat at the other side of the fire for a reason. (and it was not "because you smell like shit, Iwa-chan," he actually smelled… good. Like leather, ink, and a dash of lily. Oikawa suspected that he was the only one who could perceive the latter.) 

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Iwaizumi began, and Oikawa closed his eyes. 

"But I don't want you to go into the Form blind," Iwaizumi continued. "I don't want you to…" He stopped, sighing. "How do I put this… I want you to be aware. They're all good people, but some are wary of magickers."

Oikawa lifted his eyebrows. "Like everyone else, you mean? Thanks for the warning, Iwa-chan, but I think I'll be fine. I've been handling people like them my whole life."

"It's not really the same." Iwaizumi propped an elbow on his knee, staring into the fire. "When we're branded, we each get a certain ability. When we die, it dies with us, but for our lives, it's supposed to put us on an even footing with magickers. Some think it's where the original white came from."

"Your god, this 'Lady' is responsible for introducing white to humans?"

Iwaizumi inclined his head. "We communicate using her magic, gifted to us for a greater cause. Nowadays, it's contained in our mark, but earlier on, we had white. Until she realised it could be passed on. So our magic is slightly different. It's purer than the generational white, less diluted."

Tilting his head, Oikawa wished he had a notebook to scratch this down into. There had been many, many theories about the origins of the white patches on people's skin, but none had seemed quite right to Oikawa, as if there was a fundamental piece missing. 

"The point is, everyone can do something special," Iwaizumi told him. "If you feel your emotions suddenly calm down, that's likely Akaashi's influence. He's usually subtle, and it's hard to realise when he's affecting you, but maybe you'll be able to notice, with your Breather senses."

"Akaashi can control people's emotions?" Oikawa blinked. He'd never heard of that before, ever. 

"Not control, exactly, but… he can choose which one you feel the strongest, I guess," Iwaizumi explained. "And I just wanted you to be on guard, in case you reveal something you didn't want to."

"Like how you're telling me all of the Form's secrets?" Oikawa teased, and Iwaizumi smiled. 

"Something like that, yeah."

A drop of silence formed between them, smiling at each other. Swallowing thickly, Oikawa dipped his eyes, his fingers interlacing, flexing, clenching. 

"I'm going to sleep," Oikawa said. 

"Sleep well." Iwaizumi's low tone seemed to seep into Oikawa more. 

"I will if you don't snore."

"Asshole." 

Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa’s form beyond the flames, barely visible in the thunderstorm of orange sparks. He had chosen to sleep over there, and it bothered him. It bothered him for some reason he couldn’t place, bothered him like the way Oikawa had held his hand, the way his earnest words struck Iwaizumi’s ribs, how his presence had helped Iwaizumi recover. 

Oikawa’s eyes were ingrained into his memory, how he spoke with so much confidence, how deep his gaze had been… unguarded. That was the word Iwaizumi had been struggling towards. Oikawa’s words had been honest and unguarded and true, and he couldn’t shake them. 

_You will never hurt someone you don’t want to. I know it._

Iwaizumi wished he had that sort of faith in himself. He hated it. Every time they sparred, his chest was tight, worried in case he'd accidentally touch Oikawa and disintegrate him. Maybe he was one of the lucky ones who couldn't hurt creatures with Breath, but he could destroy trees, and that wasn't a good sign.

With a quiet sigh, Iwaizumi lay down, turning onto his side. He had never been good with emotions. The only people he’d been kilra with were the ones who made the first move on him, and then he realised that he didn’t mind their company, and before he knew it, he had already loved and been loved, as if he had completely missed half of the process. 

Iwaizumi’s skin prickled. Why was he thinking about that now? Was that what was happening here? 

No. No, it couldn’t be. Oikawa had only held his hand to prove a point, and what sort of man would pull away when his friend needed support?

Friend. Iwaizumi flipped the word over in his mind, examining it against Oikawa under all angles. How he’d hugged Iwaizumi when he returned from the dead. How soft his fingers felt, running over Iwaizumi’s bent back. The smile that slipped out when they were sparring, the subtle smile that told of his happiness and nothing else. 

How he’d touched his elbow that day he got his body back, and the feeling Iwaizumi had - the sensation of something blowing right past him, swooping over his head, hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had expanded, filling up his thoughts with a sense of “ _I should know,_ ” and finding nothing. 

“I should know,” Iwaizumi whispered out to himself. 

Mattsun had told him Oikawa was interested in him, but Oikawa himself had told him to disregard that information. Iwaizumi didn’t know what to think. Could Mattsun have been wrong? Why would Oikawa lie to him?

Whether it was real or not, he felt Oikawa’s gaze on him as he closed his eyes, seeking sleep. It was the heaviest gaze he’d ever experienced, and he suspected little sleep would come. 

_I should know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry yamamoto...I did you dirty.  
> Anyways, I hope you liked that chapter, and let's keep celebrating Iwaizumi's reappearance in the manga :')


	9. Opia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts with a bet, a wound, and continues to a realisation.  
> opia  
> n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out. (from [dictionary of obscure sorrows](https://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/108456104745/opia-n-the-ambiguous-intensity-of-looking-someone))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a little early, but I just had to post on Iwaizumi's birthday :)  
> I hope you guys enjoy it! I know I'm moving slow, but once all the cogs are crafted and they all fall together it's so, so great (I should know, I'm writing those bits rn)

To his right, Iwaizumi's head jerked upwards, and his gaze whipped into the depths of the trees. Blinking at the sudden motion, confusion ran through Oikawa, his hands withdrawing from his bag. Narrowing his eyes, Oikawa got to his feet just in time to see Iwaizumi plunging towards him, his shoulder on course to slam into Oikawa's chest. 

Iwaizumi rammed into him a heartbeat before the trees burst open before them, and Oikawa was thrown flat to the ground, smashing his shoulder into the decomposing leaves. A moment later, Oikawa saw a bulging underside fly over them, the ragged fur just brushing clear of his body. Rolling off of Oikawa, Iwaizumi scrambled to his feet beside him, drawing his sword. 

Oikawa’s daggers were in his hands in an instant, jumping up, eyes trained on the creature as it, conscious it missed its target, whirled around to face them. 

It was almost grotesque enough for Oikawa to forget the ache in his shoulder. The shaggy, matted fur hung like loose skin over its frame, the three legs on either side stumpy, but Oikawa knew well the power they contained, what muscles the fur hid. 

"What did we do to attract the attention of a ferqol?" Oikawa hissed out, to which Iwaizumi gave him a narrow side-eye. "How am I supposed to know?"

"I don't know, you're the one supposed to know stuff like this!"

The ferqol rumbled, squatting back on its haunches. 

"Watch out," Iwaizumi murmured to him. "Don't be fooled with its jumping. Sometimes they swipe with their paws and tails, too."

"I have fought one before, you know-"

Oikawa was cut off by the ferqol lunging forwards, his entire head whipping sideways with a speed that shouldn’t be possible for a thing of its size, jaws stretching wide. As he dodged out of the way, Oikawa inhaled its breath and almost gagged on the odour of what smelled like rotting shit. He wished he didn't have the stupid threat of organ failure hanging over him - although it would be unpleasant for him, he could've slit its throat in an instant. 

Iwaizumi had tumbled in the opposite direction, bringing himself up to his feet and jabbing at the side of the beast's head, who retreated a step, snapping at his sword. Its muzzle swung towards Oikawa, who darted backwards, almost bumping into Iwaizumi. He felt Iwaizumi grab his arm. 

"Follow my lead. We can easily take it with the two of us. It'll be part of your anti-Breath training."

"Full of confidence, aren't you?" Oikawa shot back, but there wasn't time to argue, the beast driving forwards again, sprays of saliva landing on their cloaks. 

"Choose any other time to be difficult," Iwaizumi hissed out, warding it off with a wide slash. "Admit that in this situation, I know more than you, and watch how I attack. You can't Breathe in your condition, so learn from me."

Oikawa felt his expression sour, but he couldn't grapple with Iwaizumi's logic. His tongue held, he fell back to beside Iwaizumi's shoulder. 

"It's limping on its front leg," he said quietly. "There's a moment of hesitation before it moves."

Iwaizumi nodded beside him, his gaze meeting Oikawa's for a beat. "Thanks." 

Oikawa knew how Iwaizumi would move. After so much time sparring with him, Iwaizumi's habits were almost second nature to Oikawa - there was the slight lift of his shoulder before a downward blow, the subtle incline of his hip before twisting to the side, the bend of his knees before lunging forwards. So it was only natural, really, that Oikawa felt himself following along - sidestepping so Iwaizumi could attack, nicking the edges of the beast's paws to make it tilt towards the path of Iwaizumi's sword, slashing down the side of its muzzle to distract it. 

Their shoulders glanced off each other every so often as they turned, and Oikawa felt a humming in his limbs, sensing Iwaizumi's movements match his, knowing when to withdraw when Oikawa had the better opening, knowing when to advance forward. The ferqol's reactions were slowing, its movements delayed, and soon Iwaizumi nudged Oikawa, gaze not shifting from the growling beast. 

"Next time he attacks, I'm going to try and roll under his head, so keep him focused on you."

"Oh, so you get the glory of the kill?" Oikawa responded, and he felt Iwaizumi's elbow dig into his ribs. 

"It'll work. Trust me, and we'll have roast ferqol for dinner." 

Iwaizumi threw out the word trust so casually, and yet Oikawa felt it crackling along his skin. He swallowed, gripping his dagger so tightly he could feel the grooves imprinting on his palms. 

"Okay, Iwa-chan."

Oikawa attacked, and the ferqol's head - and attention - lashed towards him. He saw Iwaizumi creep nearer to the beast as he fended off the skeleton-like teeth, protruding like sharpened, crooked ribs from the gums. 

Suddenly, it whisked around, and the side of its head collided with Iwaizumi, knocking him back. Oikawa's heart grew icy. Then the ferqol slumped over towards him, its legs and head going limp, and Iwaizumi straightened, yanking his bloody sword from its neck. There were crimson spurts all over the hilt and his hands, and his exhales were heavy. 

"Fucking hell," Iwaizumi said. "That's one thick neck."

"Almost competes with yours," Oikawa replied, stepping up beside him.

Wiping the flat of his blade on the fur, Iwaizumi nudged its shoulder with the ball of his foot. The shoulder alone reached up to his thigh. “It looks like a young one. It's a shame it attacked us."

“The one that attacked me was much bigger.”

“So was the one I hunted.”

“Mm, but I bet it wasn’t bigger than the one I brought down.” 

There was a rumbling before them, and the bushes split to reveal two giant mouths, open and sniffing, sagging gums and saliva trailing onto the fur below. 

“Oh. Fuck.” Iwaizumi eyed them up. "Looks like the parents are here."

"Very observant," Oikawa said, backing away a step, fists clenching around his daggers, which now seemed just a slight bit too small. If Iwaizumi's sword had barely managed to pierce through the young one's throat, he might have a bit of trouble with his half-as-long blades with a twice-as-big neck. 

"Iwa-chan," he said, watching as the two padded forwards, eyes drifting back and forth. 

"Yeah?"

"What will you give me when I kill this one faster than you can?"

"Nothing, because that won't happen," Iwaizumi shot back. "But you're going to be the one hunting for once after I take this one down quicker."

"Impossible." 

The one on the left lunged at Oikawa, who threw himself to the side, tumbling clear of the jaw shutting with an audible crack. Trying not to think of the implications if a jaw as long as his arm snapped down on his body, Oikawa scrambled to his feet, dimly aware of Iwaizumi charging towards the other. He blurred it out. As long as Iwaizumi was keeping that one busy, he was fine. 

Spinning to face Oikawa again, the ferqol growled, a sound Oikawa could feel rumbling up his feet. All six legs tensed, and Oikawa barely managed to dodge as it leapt forwards, its paws leaving grooves in the earth, exposing tree roots. 

Oikawa wished he could Breathe. But for something as massive as cutting through a big, meaty neck to get to the windpipe, it might be too much. And if he went down through the skull, he may be forced to bore through its teeth as well… An idea sprung into Oikawa's mind. It was true that he wouldn't be able to slice through to the throat in the condition he was in. But there were other ways. 

As it sprung forwards again, Oikawa dropped to the ground, letting it fly over his head, the stink of the furry underside almost overwhelming. He raised his daggers and they skidded through flesh, not deep enough to do any significant damage, but hopefully enough to annoy it. Rolling away underneath its tail, Oikawa brought himself to his feet as the ferqol twisted around, growling louder. His long ears were flattened down to his skull, the ends trailing over his thick neck. Drools of blood slowly ran down his underside, dripping off the ends of tangled fur. 

It's uncomfortable, isn't it? Oikawa thought. Come on, do what I want you to. Roar. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi saw Oikawa fighting the other, avoiding the swats of its front claws with a controlled grace, every slash of his daggers precise, measured. For an instant, Iwaizumi thought he saw a fleck of gold shake from his cloak, flaking away into the air as he spun, his daggers raking down the side of the ferqol's head, slicing down one of its eyes. Iwaizumi tried to ignore him as he ducked underneath an offensive paw, focus on his own battle, but Oikawa was… magnetic. Were the trees bending towards him, or was it a trick of the light?

Iwaizumi saw something hunking speeding towards his side, but he had been distracted, and his reflexes kicked in a trok too late. He felt spikes pierce through the side of his armour, plunging into his flesh as he was flung sideways from a swipe of the paw the size of his head. Landing on the ground, he groaned, pressing his free hand to his side, where dribbles of blood were beginning to seep out. Flashes of pain drove up his torso with every breath, but he thought they were shallow cuts. He rose to his feet again, forced to throw himself flat almost instantly as the ferqol's jaws closed over his head. 

"Iwa-chan!" 

"I'm fine," Iwaizumi grunted out, his gaze travelling over to Oikawa for a moment, who was still, staring at Iwaizumi with widened eyes. Beyond him, the ferqol he was fighting, covered with thin gashes, readied itself for another attack. 

It leapt at Oikawa, mouth gaping, and Oikawa's head began turning, but Iwaizumi knew his reaction would be too late -

He was barely conscious of doing it. The ferqol was hurled through the air, breaking through several trees, as if a mountain god's hammer had smashed against its side. With a whimper, it flopped back onto its feet, shaking its head, disorientated. Iwaizumi felt the heat behind his eyes ease a bit, his power slippery, pulsing through his veins, demanding more of a release, but he steadied himself, breathing the way Oikawa showed him, pushing it back down into the depths of himself. He couldn't afford to lose control here. 

He spun back to face his beast. 

Oikawa cursed himself, running towards the injured ferqol. He had let himself get distracted, lower his guard like a complete and utter ikol. As the ferqol regarded him, blinking, Oikawa knew it was still stunned. He had to act now. And as the ferqol roared again, Oikawa sprung straight forwards, thrusting his hand past the monster's teeth, plunging his dagger into the roof of its mouth.

The ferqol cried out in pain, thrashing its head from side to side, but Oikawa held on, preventing it from closing its mouth, giving himself the time he needed to Breathe. His Breath left him and rippled through the beast's teeth, straight up through the roof of its mouth and tore through its skull, emerging from the top as the ferqol collapsed by Oikawa's feet. Oikawa took a quick stock of himself - he was sure that he'd Breathed for a short enough time that he hadn't aggravated his injury. 

Saliva soaked through his cloak's sleeve as he withdrew his arm, grimacing. Holding the top jaw up, his shoulder complaining under the weight, he managed to wriggle his dagger free, yanking it out of solid bone. 

He glanced over to Iwaizumi, who had clambered on top of the ferqol, his legs caught around its neck as he raised his sword over its head, tip pointing straight down. The ferqol squirmed and threw itself sideways into a roll, Iwaizumi cursing loudly and jumping off of its back right before being squashed underneath its bulk. Before the ferqol could recover, though, Iwaizumi was there, driving his sword down in the middle of its paw, pinning it to the earth. Its howl vibrated against Oikawa's ears, its pain tasting like bitter fruit on his tongue. Almost faster than Oikawa could comprehend, Iwaizumi had tugged his sword free and sunk it deep into the neck of the beast, sawing it back and forth. With one final, gargling cry, the ferqol died, rivulets of blood snaking down Iwaizumi's blade. 

Iwaizumi stepped back, his palm pressing hard to his side. "Shit, they were big." 

Oikawa jogged over to him, trying not to let his concern leak through to his expression. "Show me your wound." 

"It's okay," Iwaizumi told him, slowly removing his palm, little pools forming in the grooves of his hand. "They're shallow enough, I can patch them up myself. There's no need for you to exert yourself."

"If they're shallow, I should be fine," Oikawa pointed out, his hands unbuckling the straps across Iwaizumi's shoulder. "Let me have a look." 

Iwaizumi blinked at him. "Why are you acting like an actual healer?"

"I was always an actual healer - oh, shut up!" 

Helping him remove his chest armour, Iwaizumi smiled. "I didn't say anything. If anything, I'm grateful that you're acting like what you're supposed to be."

"You gave me a look like I was lying," Oikawa replied, taking Iwaizumi's armour off, the shoulder and side buckles undone, gaze dipping to his side. As Iwaizumi had judged, it seemed that the claws had been mostly stopped by the leather, and there were only three deep scratches ripped into his shirt.

Iwaizumi sighed, fingering the destroyed fabric. "There goes another shirt."

Reaching out, Oikawa dropped his armour, lifting the side of Iwaizumi's shirt with one hand, the other running lightly along the edge of his cuts. He expected Iwaizumi to protest, to pull away, but he only heard a quiet hiss of pain. 

"I can heal you," Oikawa concluded, dropping the hem of his shirt and straightening up. "Open your mouth."

"I know the deal by now," Iwaizumi grumbled, but he faced Oikawa, splitting open his lips without any more complaints. 

Oikawa murmured out a word underneath his breath, and his Breath surged upwards, swooping into Iwaizumi's mouth. His eyes closed, the edges creasing as he braced himself against the sharp pain, but it didn't take long. 

Iwaizumi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I can see why people don't like it. It feels… invasive, somehow. It's like part of you is inside me, poking around."

Oikawa couldn't stop himself from letting out a snort, arching his eyebrows at him. "Like what now?"

Blinking, it finally seemed to sink into Iwaizumi what he’d said, and his brow darkened. It might've just been the shadows from the leaves overhead shifting, but Oikawa thought his cheeks darkened too. "I didn't mean it like that-"

"Of course you didn't, Iwa-chan. I bet the thought hadn't even crossed your pure mind," Oikawa teased, and Iwaizumi's expression deepened into a scowl. 

"Then again, there might be another reason people dislike you."

"Because I'm too perfect?"

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. "Something to do with that, yeah."

He picked up his armour from the ground, slotting it back over his healed wound. 

"So?" Oikawa placed a hand on his hip, staring at him fiddle with it.

"What?" Iwaizumi was focused on buckling up his shoulder strap. 

"I won the bet. I killed my ferqol first."

Iwaizumi scowled, jerking the strap taunt. "Only because I was -" He stopped himself, eyes narrowing. "It doesn't matter. I didn't promise you anything, and did you forget already that I saved your life? That ferqol would've snapped you in half if I hadn't managed to push him."

"True," Oikawa admitted. "I'm in shock that you managed to use a push the proper way, after all of the time you spent failing miserably at it." 

"So, deuce?"

"That's only what losers say to make themselves feel better."

"We're both losers then. Just help me skin them, would you? We're not too far from the Form, and you look like you could use a new cloak."

Oikawa glanced down at his sleeves, burned from the wagon fire, dim brown splotches of blood, and now with ferqol saliva staining it. "You may have a point there."

The adrenaline wearing off, he suddenly felt a stinging along his forearm, and he pushed back the ragged sleeve, revealing thin, sideways cuts on either side of his arm. He clucked his tongue in annoyance, noting the obliterated edges of his shirt. Rest in peace, his poor perfectly fitted shirt. 

Iwaizumi glanced over. "When did you get those?" He jogged the few steps back to their camp, retrieving his bag, and stuck one arm into it as he returned.

Oikawa ran through his memories, at the feeling of the ferqol shaking his head back and forth around his dagger, teeth scraping past his arm.. Or so he thought. "It must've been when I stuck my dagger in his mouth. I guess I didn't have enough space between its teeth as I thought." 

Stepping forwards, Iwaizumi gently took Oikawa's arm by the wrist, and began stripping back the sleeve of his shirt. His touch was so light Oikawa barely felt it, only the peeling of sticky fabric from his skin. 

"I can take care of it myself."

"How many times have you healed me by now?" Iwaizumi asked him. "Let me repay the favour."

"If you think that cleaning up a little cut makes us even for me literally saving your life multiple times, you need your head checked."

He saw Iwaizumi's ears tinge red, his fingers grasping his arm a little closer. "No. But it'll be something, at least. I know it won't repay my debt to you, but…" He exhaled, breath warm on Oikawa's arm. "Let me do this."

He glanced up, and Oikawa's mouth felt like it had been filled with honey. He could only nod back. Iwaizumi ducked his head again. "Good." His fingers were solid against Oikawa's skin.

He bandaged Oikawa's arm in silence, a silence neither of them felt the need to fill in. 

"Hey, Oikawa. Look at this." 

Iwaizumi was kneeling by the first ferqol they killed, the young one, knife in hand, the other flat against the hind leg. As Oikawa approached, he could see something black beneath the straggling hair, and he knelt down beside Iwaizumi, pushing the dry fur out of the way. Underneath, his fingers brushed dampness, and he grimaced, wiping off of his hands as he peered closer.

"That's the moss, isn't it?" Iwaizumi asked, and realisation struck Oikawa. 

"From the Seeing forest, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Don't touch it," Oikawa found himself warning Iwaizumi, who withdrew his hand. "Alright. I don't think it's a good idea to eat the meat from this one, either. It's probably just growing on its fur, but…" 

Iwaizumi angled his knife underneath the moss, cutting it free. A section of flesh came with it, but as Iwaizumi wiped off the thin sheet of blood, Oikawa noticed tiny black fractures running through it, latching onto veins, clumping together around nerves. 

"That's not just growing on the fur," Iwaizumi observed, and dropped it, straightening up. "It can grow on animals now, too? I thought it ate things with Breath." 

Pushing the lump over with the end of his dagger, Oikawa bent nearer to it, noting how the fur around the moss had begun to die off. "Do the others have moss on them, too?"

Iwaizumi shook his head. "Not that I could see, and I've skinned them already. But maybe we shouldn't eat the meat."

Standing up, Oikawa groaned. "But it's delicious! And if we salt it we could have it for days, maybe even a week. Don't tell me that you're not sick of stale bread too."

"If it's a choice between that, and that weird moss growing into me, I'll take the bread.”

Oikawa went silent for a moment, and Iwaizumi gave him a look. "Don't tell me you're even considering -"

"Of course not!" Oikawa said, waving a hand in the air. "I was just thinking…"

Iwaizumi's eyebrows knit together. "Thinking what?"

"I'm not sure yet," Oikawa said carefully, watching the ferqol as if it might spring to life. 

"It's unsettling for sure, but is it really something to dwell on?" Iwaizumi asked, hiking his bag onto his back. "We just have to be careful with what we eat. We've got other, more major things to worry about at the moment. Pick up the skins of the others, would you?"

"They're fucking heavy. We better not have long to go."

"We don't."

"Here?" Oikawa asked, and Iwaizumi nodded, the edges of his mouth uplifted. 

"Here."

From the uncharacteristic bounce in Iwaizumi's step, the eager way he navigated through the looped branches and ducked under arching trees, Oikawa knew he had been waiting for this. 

"How long since you've been back here?" he inquired, and Iwaizumi knelt down in the dirt, gently bending a tuft of grass aside. 

Peering forwards, Oikawa could just about see a flat stone surface under a thin layer of dirt, masked by thick strands of grass. It was a miracle Iwaizumi could spot where it was. 

"Since I joined Torem's castle," he answered, catching his Form scar. "So roughly five years."

With his left hand curled into a fist, he shot it straight down, and his fist passed through the rock, a single shimmer the only indication of magic. His mouth split into a smile, and he jerked upwards, straightening and backing away from the stone. His hand grasped Oikawa's arm, tugging him back with him. 

"What exactly are we waiting for?" Oikawa questioned, and Iwaizumi squeezed his arm lightly, his eyes bright, reflecting the blue overlay of the leaves above. 

"You'll see."

Oikawa's gaze stuck on the soil, on the open patch, so focused that he didn't notice the branches bending downwards until they were almost touching the slab, crawling across it, growing thinner and thinner twigs tangling together until he could only see tree.

"This is the difference between regular white and The Lady's magic," Iwaizumi told him. "I never get tired of seeing this happen." 

Oikawa held back an 'I could do that' comment, instead watching in silence as the tangled, whirling mass split into two, arching upwards from the stone and outwards, extending almost into the leaf roof overhead. There was a large space between the columns, about the width of Oikawa if he outstretched both of his arms to the side. Just before breaking the overhead of leaves, they shot towards each other, winding elegantly around each other. 

A streak of light beamed down from where they met to the rock, almost blinding Oikawa. The scent of iron smacked into him, as if he had just stepped into a smoky forge, and he stepped back, the light drifting back into the boughs. 

The arch bent in the middle, so it was like a giant M in front of them, and Iwaizumi nudged him with his elbow. “Let’s go. Step into the middle, between the arches."

"I think you'll forgive me if I nominate you to go first," Oikawa replied, feeling the concentration of power at the middle like a buzzing on his lips. "I would rather not be vaporised because I don't have your brand, or killed by whatever cute little cult security system you have in place." 

"Fine," Iwaizumi relented, and he stepped forwards without hesitation, placing one foot on the mass of little entwined twigs, a circular platform almost the width of Oikawa's arm. It didn't leave much space for Oikawa, but he knew if he let Iwaizumi go first, Oikawa might turn back. The voice inside him saying that the heir would be okay in Iwaizumi's hands, that he trained him the best he could in the time, and it was better to cut loose now and create a new life for himself was weak, but there. 

Waiting for him, Iwaizumi's gaze scanned him, and Oikawa shivered, almost certain that he could see what was running through his head. Yet Iwaizumi didn't say anything, only held out a hand. And instead of listening to his doubts, he did what he wanted to. 

He took Iwaizumi's hand.

Something in Iwaizumi's expression changed as Oikawa walked forwards, pressing in beside him. It wasn't a smile as such, more of a shimmer of one, his brow relaxing, the edges of his mouth drifting just the slightest bit upwards. Oikawa let go of Iwaizumi's hand, cursing himself. 

"So what do we do now?" Oikawa asked, glancing away. His chest touched Iwaizumi's with every breath. "Cut ourselves for a blood ritual?"

Iwaizumi snorted. "Not quite." He reached across to his scar, his arm grazing past the thick material of Oikawa's cloak. "Close your eyes, it's going to be disorientating." He hesitated, gaze dipping to the little space between them. "And you're gonna need to be touching me, or you won't get in." 

"You don't have to look so afraid," Oikawa teased, laying a hand on the arm crossing over Iwaizumi's chest. "I'm not going to stab you. Unless you insult me, in which case you might not arrive to this place alive." 

Iwaizumi took a deep breath and shut his eyes, squeezing them tightly, his brows lowering and knitting together. All of a sudden, Oikawa felt a lurch beneath his feet, and he closed his eyes just in time. He felt a rushing of wind past his face, a momentary blazing heat, then the tickle of feathery leaves. He tried to take a breath and couldn't, the movement of air pulling out his breath, but his body felt as if it was nothing but light, as if the only grounding thing keeping him from spiralling into particles across the world was his grip on Iwaizumi's arm. 

And then, it stopped. 

Oikawa blinked the gleaming spots away, feeling soil fall from his lashes to below his eyes, and he rubbed it away. They were in a cave, soil encrusting the ceiling, and a plain stone arch stood in front of him, two wooden doors shut between them. The panels were outlined in thick metal wires, dull and tarnished with notches.

"That's it?" 

"What were you expecting?"

"After that?" Oikawa answered. "Maybe another world that the Lady lives in with all of her little cult members, where everyone wears white and has flowing long hair that never becomes tangled and there's an endless supply of mead that's actually tasty."

"Alright, I get the idea. You're disappointed." Iwaizumi strode over to the door and placed his shoulder against it, pushing, his feet digging into the shallow layer of dirt on the rock floor. It began to crack open, and Oikawa joined him, shoving against the other door. It felt like they were sealed to the ceiling, or maybe metal spikes embedded into the floor that they had to drag as well. 

"Why is your main door so damn difficult to open?" Oikawa gritted out. "Nobody can get into here without that mark of yours, so why... make… them... heavy?"

"It wasn't exactly my design choice," Iwaizumi answered, a little breathless, scowling at the door in question. "But I'm going to suggest… replacing them.. after all of this."

With his last word, the doors stopped resisting, and they stumbled through, not expecting the sudden respite. 

A short man stood on the other side, a shield weighing down one arm. His hair was like washed-out sandstone, a soft beige, a short beard the same colour ringing a circular face, giving him an appearance of what Oikawa thought a dwarf would look like. He grinned widely, banging the end of his gold-twined shield on the earth. 

"You know you could've just knocked, right?" he asked, and Iwaizumi grinned back. 

"I wanted to surprise you."

"As if," he scoffed, his voice smooth. "I could sense your mark from a tendre away. C'mere, give me a hug." 

Iwaizumi embraced the smaller man, whose head barely reached his shoulder. "You haven't grown any taller, Yaku. Has Moniwa not developed a growth rubbing yet?" 

"Hug withdrawn. Redacted," Yaku declared, separating himself from Iwaizumi. "If you're not going to be fucking nice, you're not getting any affection."

Iwaizumi held up his hands, the corners of his mouth quivering dangerously close to a smile. "I was asking out of concern, Yaku. I swear on The Lady."

Yaku huffed, thumping Iwaizumi on the arm. "I'll let you off this time. Hey, you're just in time for a gathering. Head up to the Room of Order and I'll meet you there, just gotta take care of a few things first. " 

He nodded to Oikawa. "Oh, and I'm Yaku, by the way. You shouldn't be here, but just tell anyone that challenges you that you're with Iwaizumi and they should back off, yeah? Got it? Threaten them if you have to." 

Tilting his head, Oikawa regarded him, trying to judge if he was serious or not. "I will, without hesitation. Thanks…?" 

"You're welcome. I'll catch up with you in a bit, Iwaizumi, okay? Just gotta drop off this shield first." 

"Sure. Pint later?"

"Psch, obviously. We're celebrating you coming back as soon as possible."

The smile lasted on Iwaizumi's face as Yaku turned away, hitching up the shield. 

“That’s Yaku."

"I picked up on that."

"He co-runs the place with Akaashi when I’m away, so for the last five years, I guess.” 

“What’s his ability?” Oikawa asked as Yaku pattered away down a thin, leering corridor. His steps were much lighter than Oikawa expected, carrying a shield that almost reached up to his shoulder, so either the shield was much lighter than it looked or Yaku was much stronger than he appeared.

“Crafting,” Iwaizumi answered, tapping the sword at his hip. “He makes all of our tools and weapons, and they’re damn good too. Even the Westland smiths can’t balance a blade as well as he can. And he makes fine kettles. Pour nice."

Oikawa felt a smile snaking up his lips. "Good to know." 

"You'll appreciate it when you're making yourself a cup of tea." 

Iwaizumi led Oikawa down a corridor to their left. The laneways, wide enough for maybe three abreast, were plain, studded every so often with an oil-based torch, or some circular light source studded into the walls themselves. The ceilings, however, were higher than Oikawa expected, stretching overhead, and, as Oikawa angled his head back, he couldn't see the end without the darkness snuffing out visibility first. Before long, they came to the end, a curtain hanging down a doorway straight ahead of them or a sharp right turn. Oikawa could hear the dimmed murmur of voices. 

A man stood there beside the door - well, a boy just about passing for a man, stiff and rigid. Oikawa judged that he couldn't have been more than eighteen, black hair cut rigidly down across his forehead, shaking with every slight movement of his head. 

"Hey, Goshiki! You're looking sharp as ever!" Iwaizumi greeted the guard, slapping him on the shoulder. 

The guard perked up, regarding Iwaizumi with a shine in his eyes. "Iwaizumi-san! You're finally back! How was your mission?"

Iwaizumi made a face. "I'll let you know later." He glanced past him, into the room. "Have they been in there long? The Council still won't let you in, huh?"

"They've only been there a few troks, I'm sure they'll be happy to see you too," Goshiki told him eagerly, but then his expression fell, little eyebrows mellowing out. "Yaku says that they'll start allowing some of the senior members in soon, but I don't know when that'll be…"

"Ah, once Ushijima relaxes a bit he'll see reason," Iwaizumi assured him, and Goshiki huffed. 

"I've been waiting for him to relax for five years, but I understand why the rules are there…"

"In any case, I'd better head in -"

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" Oikawa demanded, and Iwaizumi blinked. "Oh, yeah. Goshiki, this is Oikawa Tooru, ex-diplomat of the kingdom. Oikawa, this is Goshiki, a member of the Form."

Goshiki stood a little straighter. "Nice to meet you, Oikawa-san." 

After greetings were exchanged, Oikawa went to follow Iwaizumi through the curtain, but a hand hit his chest. 

"Sorry, Oikawa-san. No magickers allowed."

Oikawa shot a look over to Iwaizumi, halfway through the doorway, who averted his eyes with a shrug. 

"Rules."

“It’s a _stupid_ rule!” Oikawa protested. "We're probably fighting a type of Breather, so why isn't another Breather allowed in?"

“I’ll tell you everything when I come back out,” Iwaizumi promised, then vanished behind falling satin. 

“That’s not allowed,” Goshiki said. 

“Yeah, thanks, very helpful,” Oikawa snapped back, then spun back around and stalked away. 

He wasn’t going to wait like some dog outside while all the important people discussed war. Oikawa made his way straight up for a bit until he was out of sight of the guard, then chose a corridor to the side, going back towards the room. Quietly, he rested a hand on the handle of another room, pressing his ear to the wood. Nothing. 

He tried to slip in, but the handle resisted him. Oikawa cursed, crouching down by the lock- why couldn’t things go his way for once? All he wanted was an open door. Exhaling, he Breathed into the lock, the taste of oil metallic in his mouth. Slowly, he prodded around the inside of the lock, lifting a tumbler at a time, applying just the right amount of tension. Oikawa’s lungs were growing tight by the time the door clicked open, and he sucked back in his Breath gratefully. 

It should be the room pressed against the other, if his sense of direction was right. Heightening his senses for a trok, he noted the wall that was to his left had voices behind it, not quite distinguible. The wall was covered in different tools, lengthy poles and blunt metal parts resting on a table.

Careful, he crouched beside the table, pressing his ear to it. Producing his knife, he carved out a small hole in the thankfully thin wall, as quietly as he could. He could've used his Breath, but he'd rather not have pieces of wood and soil in his mouth. Once he was done, voices flowed through. 

“-settler then. What about that Breather? Oikawa Tooru, I believe?” 

“He doesn’t need to know.”

“Perhaps if given the right motivation he could be useful. He was aid to the king, so he is loyal to this kingdom. The fact that he’s still here to rescue the prince speaks well of him.” 

“Iwaizumi, what do you think? You’ve spent many moons travelling with him.”

“Oikawa… I don’t know him very well.”

“You know him better than any of us here, so we will trust your judgment. Is he trustworthy?”

A pause. Oikawa could hear Iwaizumi's fingers tapping against the table. 

“He only acts in his best interests. I recommend not letting him know anything more than he needs to.” 

Oikawa's jaw clenched, and he fought the urge to hammer on the wall, slice through the wood and call Iwaizumi out on his words. What stopped him was that Iwaizumi's words weren't words out of a bull's ear, they… had quite a lot of evidence to back them up, if Oikawa was being honest with himself. It still stung, after all this time, to learn that his perfect mask worked.

“Why did you bring him here?” 

"I told you before. He was given the responsibility of caring for the boy too, and he can help us." 

Rolling his eyes, Oikawa filtered through the arguing, usual stuff about not trusting him and Iwaizumi getting cross-examined on every angle as to why he’d included Oikawa. He felt a little bad for that, but it was Iwaizumi's choice to bring him here. And Oikawa's choice to not object.

“And you, Akaashi?” 

“We’ve been approached by her for an alliance, just like the Flightless."

“An alliance? After she murdered our king?” 

"The king wasn't perfect. She's offering to fix the flaws in his policies, make it so we can protect the people in the open again."

"People's attitudes have changed since then. We won't be welcome." 

"Perhaps not, but she intends to change their attitudes, through force if necessary. This is going ahead, with or without us. Daichi says that she has claimed she has negotiations with the Westland lords arranged, but I can't see them accepting her authority. To meet with her would acknowledge her as someone of power."

"Some of the weaker ones might, hoping to strengthen their lands."

"Then we need to strike quickly, remove her before she sets anything uncontainable into motion."

Oikawa continued to listen, recording everything, familiarising himself with the voices. He could pick out about three different voices, excluding Iwaizumi's own one. He found himself drifting a little, distracted by how nicely Iwaizumi's deep voice fell against his ears, but he forced himself to focus. There were things more important than how certain and reassuring Iwaizumi sounded. 

After a while, his legs cramped from the crouching, and he heard chairs sliding back, creaking against stone. Hastily, he straightened up and returned to outside the room, ignoring the glower the guard gave him. 

Iwaizumi came out first, the curtain dragging over his shoulders as his gaze landing on Oikawa. "You're still here."

"I didn't have a choice. I don't know how to leave this place."

Iwaizumi snorted. "Alright, true. But I was just worried…" 

Behind him, the curtain parted again, and a man stepped out.

A man with just an edge of beauty, as if some of his corners had been softened into curves, like the gentle upturn of the end of his nose, or the neat, precise slope of his eyebrows. His eyes were strong in a way Oikawa couldn't place, as if the deep green was made of mossy coal, waiting for just the right moment to alight. 

"Akaashi Keiji," Iwaizumi introduced him, and Oikawa nodded, a little breathless. He was fairly sure he was invested in Iwaizumi, but by the gods, Akaashi was _hot._

He breezed on by with a nod of acknowledgement, moving with a graceful purpose, and Oikawa wondered if he was the son of a deity. Nobody human could move with such ease, or have such unnaturally high cheekbones. Black hair curled around his ears, simple and delicate, and Oikawa thought it would feel like velvet. 

He was pretty sure he could manipulate his emotions without any magic. 

Another man ducked through the overhang, this time with brown hair tied up in a low bun at the base of his neck, loose hairs curling down around his structured cheeks. Oikawa dropped his gaze, and noticed how large his calloused hands were, as if he had grown up crushing rocks with them. As he passed, he smelled a certain flower, one he didn't recognise, but it was wistful, and Oikawa knew he had been through more tragedy than most. 

"Asahi," Iwaizumi told him, fondness in his tone. 

Asahi walked over to greet them, a wide grin across his face. "Iwaizumi, I didn't know if we'd see you again! I was glad to see you walk in there."

"Well, I'm here now," Iwaizumi smiled back, pulling him into a brotherly hug. "How have you been? How're the plants doing?" 

"Ah, same as always. Don't start me talking on them," Asahi said, his smile travelling over to Oikawa. "Hello, I'm Asahi Azumane. It's an honour to meet you. Iwaizumi has told us about you."

There was a proud lift to his chin, and Oikawa felt like he should…

“I’m sorry for your loss,” slipped out, and Asahi’s tawny eyes widened, instantly turning to Iwaizumi.

“Did you…”

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Oikawa quickly interjected. “I just… know.”

“Oh. Well… I should go check on how the crops are doing," Asahi said, eyes darting to the side. "It was nice meeting you, Oikawa."

Oikawa nodded, and Iwaizumi frowned at him as Asahi left. "Why did you do that?"

"I… I felt sorry for him. He's been through some shit, hasn't he?"

"We all have. But... him more than the rest of us." Iwaizumi sighed. "I can see why you're not very popular."

"I know it unnerves people," Oikawa said. "But I had to say something." 

Iwaizumi only shook his head. "You really didn't." 

Oikawa almost missed the next person out. They walked as if they were a guard, mirroring everyone else's steps, blending in with the beat of the crowd, shoulder-length hair obscuring their face. The fact that they were small didn't help, about up to the shoulder of most other members. 

"That's Kenma," Iwaizumi told him. "I'm surprised he was there. He usually finds any excuse he can to skip these gatherings." 

Kenma met Iwaizumi's eyes and nodded his greetings, before moving on. 

"Alright. Time for the look-around," Iwaizumi announced, and Oikawa groaned. 

"I'm tired. Can't I just get a room and dump all of this stuff in it first?"

"The rooms are on the furthest side from here. Trust me, it'll take less effort to see things on the way than come back," Iwaizumi told him, then held out his hand. "Give me one of your bags. I don't want you complaining the entire fucking way." 

"You do know how to be charming," Oikawa commented as he shrugged loose a bag, placing the strap in Iwaizumi's palm. "I never would've guessed."

"For once, shut up and let me show you around. I haven't been back here in five years, I want to see what's changed too before carting you to your room. You might as well join me."

"You're assuming that your company is better than an empty room," Oikawa retorted back. "I hate to break this to you, but…"

Iwaizumi turned and started walking away, and Oikawa stopped, hurrying after him. "Hey! I don't know my way around here!"

"Exactly why I'm showing you around. Come on. First up, the training room."

Oikawa was unimpressed. He cocked his hands on his hips as he looked around at the plain circular-shaped room, with a few branching corridors, presumably leading to weapon rooms or maybe weight training. He judged that it was large enough for maybe five partners to spar without bashing into each other, if they all were aware of each other. Worn benches circled the main area, rings outlined on the ground in various colours. 

"Nothing compared to the king's court that you're used to," he commented, and Iwaizumi shrugged, looking over the place with an easy fondness. 

"This is where I first learned how to fight. Properly, anyway. I'll still prefer it to the king's arena any day." 

Iwaizumi lifted a hand in greeting, and Oikawa followed his gaze to the other side, nearly entirely coated in the shadow between two torches. 

Someone was there, an emerging man that looked familiar to Oikawa, but he couldn't place him. Could he have been another plant in the castle like Iwaizumi? 

He approached Iwaizumi, and Oikawa realised he was taller than even himself, an imposing force, even in how he walked. The ground could be crumbling away around him and his steps would be as sure and certain as gravity. His expression was as unreadable as the rock wall, and he simply nodded his acknowledgement at Oikawa, speaking to Iwaizumi.

"It's good to see you back here again. Nobody else can match up to my sparring abilities. Do you want to practice?"

"Perhaps in a bit. I need to brush up, too." Iwaizumi gestured over to Oikawa. “Ushijima, this is Oikawa Tooru, Torem's ex-diplomat. Oikawa, this is Ushijima Wakatoshi, my, um…”

“Friend,” Ushijima supplied.

“Friend. He's in charge of ensuring all of us are capable of fighting." 

"That is your job too," Ushijima said, and Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck. "I know. Just.. not recently."

Oikawa squinted up at him. “I know you.” 

“Yes, we’ve met before. Near the border of Eurus." 

A flash of clarity bloomed in Oikawa. “I know where you’re from! You tried to recruit me - this was the organization you wanted me to join!” 

Ushijima nodded. “You would’ve made a good addition.” 

“Really?” Iwaizumi asked, eyebrows high. 

“Yes. He has formidable skills. Unfortunately, the council wasn’t keen on allowing a magicker to join and Oikawa refused to cooperate with me to plead his case.” 

Oikawa angled his chin upwards. "If it was anyone else complimenting me I'd be flattered, but since it's you, go fuck yourself.” 

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi warned. "Be nice."

“That was me being nice.”

“It was,” Ushijima agreed. “Much worse was said to me when we met before. Although most of it was in his Breather language. I think I grasped the meaning though." 

“Oh, he did that to you too?” Iwaizumi arched his ample brow. “Does it make you feel superior?” 

“I don’t need to do that to feel superior. Breather insults are just worse. There's no proper equivalent worthy of it in the common language."

Ushijima turned to Iwaizumi. "I heard you lost the heir."

"Yeah." Iwaizumi dropped his gaze, reaching over to scratch his arm. "It - I … it couldn't be helped."

"She would have to be extremely strong to overpower you."

"She is."

"I still can't believe that you let him go -"

"I didn't have a choice."

"- especially as you were the one chosen to oversee his wellbeing for a reason. Yaku stepped up to fill your role so you could dedicate yourself to the heir." 

Out of the corner of his eye, Oikawa saw Iwaizumi wince, his eyes creasing up for an instant. 

"It wasn't his fault," Oikawa cut in. "She killed him, and he didn't even have a chance to defend himself."

"He died with a Breather as competent as you nearby?" Ushijima questioned further, and Oikawa felt a swell of anger rising in him. 

Oikawa opened his mouth to tell him about Tobio's abilities, but he felt a hand rest on his arm, and he glanced over to see Iwaizumi shake his head. 

"It doesn't matter what happened, we'll get him back," Iwaizumi stated, and Ushijima nodded. 

"We will. When are you available for practice?"

"After I show Oikawa to his room. Do you want to use merks?” 

“Alright.” 

Iwaizumi's brow lowered, and his hands rose up. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to use the pikes?”

“All I said was alright.” 

“I thought you preferred - you seemed…” Iwaizumi blew out a breath. “It doesn’t matter. I'll come back after I've shown Oikawa around."

Ushijima looked at him, but nodded. "I'll be here." 

Iwaizumi's shoulder hit against Oikawa's, as subtle a hint as Iwaizumi was capable of. 

"Come on. I'll show you the smithing room." 

As he walked beside Iwaizumi, Oikawa squinted at him, noticing his tense shoulders. 

“Why are you so awkward around Ushijima?”

“Well…” 

“I’d have thought that you two would get along well, considering how boring and strict you two both are. But he's giving you as much shit as the rest of them, and you're even more socially incompetent than usual."

“We do get along. Or did.”

Oikawa waited for more information, more non-descript wooden doors passing by, but apparently Iwaizumi was done speaking. 

“Did you kill his best friend too?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well?” 

Iwaizumi sighed deeply, perhaps sensing that Oikawa wasn’t going to let this go. “We were _kilra_ for a while. Maybe around two years. Then we broke apart, and it’s not quite the same, even though it was years ago.” 

Oikawa spun to face Iwaizumi. “ _Him?_ And you're not straight?"

Iwaizumi's forehead creased up, as if he couldn't guess as to why Oikawa was so outraged. “What? He’s a handsome man. Honourable too. And no? Did you just assume that because I was with a woman?"

“That makes it even worse," Oikawa spluttered out. " _Ushijima?_ You had the choice of literally anyone of any gender at all and you chose _him?_ "

“What’s wrong with him?” 

“He nearly harassed me to death about joining this group! And don’t you have rules anyways about dating each other?”

“Nope.”

“That’s stupid. Almost as stupid as dating Ushijima. Out of everyone who's into men…." Oikawa tried to think of a suitably stupid nickname for him. "Ushiwaka. Ushi-fucking-waka-chan."

“You don’t get to judge me on my stupid, King stupid.” 

There it was again. A break in Iwaizumi's demeanour, a shitty retort chosen over silence. Oikawa allowed himself to feel a sense of victory. 

“Poor word choice, repetitive and not strong enough to hurt my feelings,” Oikawa judged. “Two out of ten. Insults are supposed to burrow under the skin, Iwa-chan. I can barely feel yours.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Simple and effective, but I’m afraid it lacked a personal touch,” Oikawa answered. “But coupled with that death glare you’re giving me, I might feel intimidated if I was a lesser man. I’ll give that one seven out of ten.” 

“I’m going to put my hands around your pretty neck and help you meet death.” 

Oikawa tilted his head to the side. “Very good. Original phrasing in the second half and a compliment in the first, subverting the expectations of a typical insult. Nine out of ten.”

“Compliment?” Iwaizumi frowned, and then it dawned on him. “Ah.” 

“I knew it was too smart of a move to be intentional,” Oikawa answered, and Iwaizumi’s frown deepened into a scowl. 

He suspected it was to hide the reddening of his upper cheeks, but Oikawa pushed it aside. Don’t think about how cute he looks flustered. Don’t think about how he called your neck pretty. 

“I should fill you in on the meeting earlier,” Iwaizumi said, readjusting the bags over his shoulder, the ferqol fur peeking out. 

“No need. Being the brilliant, innovative man I am, I eavesdropped. I think I heard all I need to know."

Oikawa paused, wondering whether to say the next thing on his mind.

“I also heard you say I wasn’t trustworthy.” 

Iwaizumi only shook his head. “I didn't exactly mean that, Oikawa. To trust you would mean giving you information. Information that comes at a price, a responsibility, and especially here. You’re bound as soon as you know.” 

Oikawa’s gaze travelled to his upper left arm. “Hm. Okay. Let me guess, you can't tell me any more than that?"

Iwaizumi nodded. "You guessed right. If you heard that, you also heard the shit they gave me afterwards for telling you the limited amount you know." His voice dropped. "Don't let on that you know about any of their abilities, alright?"

“This cult sucks.” 

Snorting, Iwaizumi’s palm pressed flush to his scar. “It’s alright. After my granny died, they became my family. I’ll always be thankful to them for that.” 

“Heartwarming,” Oikawa deadpanned. "You know you don't usually date your family, right?"

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi rested his hand on a door, marked with a little carved lightning bolt. It lit up under Iwaizumi's touch, and a rumbling ran down the door, shaking it. Oikawa heard a final shudder, and assumed it was unlocked. 

“Here's Asahi's part," Iwaizumi informed him, pushing open the door. "It's where we grow our food, and store our history, since, you know, our pasts are always growing and.." 

Oikawa stifled a snort, and Iwaizumi glanced away, scratching the back of his neck. "It wasn't us who decided that, alright? You can shut up laughing at it."

"I'm not laughing. How dare you accuse me of laughing at your.." Oikawa attempted to straighten out his face. "Your lame room choices…"

His voice faded as his gaze spun around the room - it was barely a room, he couldn't even specify where the top was. Light broke through panels at the ceiling - was it a ceiling? Oikawa narrowed his eyes against the glare, noting patches of grass stuck between some sections of sky.

As his gaze lowered, he realised that the entire space was covered in greenery, some plants with wide, flat leaves, some with striking flowers as big as Oikawa's head blooming, some trailing up the sides of the cavern. Pathways extended around the sections of plants, paved by a shimmering stone, and Oikawa could see that, within the first glance of chaos, there was a pattern to the plants grouped together. 

"What were you saying about our lame rooms?" Iwaizumi asked him, amusement heavy in his voice, and Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest. 

"I was saying that your lame rooms were lame. I don't even see any books here."

"I said we stored our history here. I didn't say we stored them in books," Iwaizumi corrected him, leading him over to a section the path circled all the way around. 

"For a group that refuses to let a magicker in on your gatherings, you like your magical accessories a little too much, don't you think?" Oikawa commented flatly, looking at the murals on the walls, depicting various people Oikawa didn't recognise, in battles, writing at low-lit desk, conversing with each other. The paintings seemed to shimmer a little, and they were difficult to focus on after a few troks, so Oikawa glanced away. 

"It's different," Iwaizumi told him. "Every time we get a new member, they're branded with The Lady's magic, contained in our mark. White is diluted, less pure."

He hesitated, hand hovering over a leaf. "As I said earlier, I shouldn't be telling you this, but if you were to come in here and see some memories for yourself… I wouldn't be able to stop you."

Oikawa felt a little smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "You don't actually believe that, do you? That your magic is better than white. Frankly, Iwa-chan, it sounds like absolute bullshit to me."

Iwaizumi shrugged, not meeting Oikawa's eyes. "I don't think it matters. But there are… others that think it does, that we were given this power to direct others, to maintain order. That's what we do."

The corners of his mouth fell a little, and before Oikawa could question him further, he spoke.

"Here. You can see how this works yourself."

With his other hand, he curled the leaf over his hand, and liquid drained from the top, coating his whole hand. The liquid stopped at the edge of the leaf, as if prevented from running off by an unseen barrier, and Iwaizumi exhaled, closing his eyes. 

"Yeah. This one's fine." 

The leaf unfolded itself from his hand, and Iwaizumi withdrew it, smiling. He directed Oikawa to do the same, and Oikawa shook his head. 

"Nope. That looks too similar to the memory-stealing moss, and you were not in good shape coming out of that."

"Huh. I guess so." Iwaizumi's expression grew thoughtful. "I hadn't made that connection before. But trust me, it's okay. We all have a section where we store memories important to us or the cause - if you want, you can go back to the people who founded the Form and relive parts of their lives."

Oikawa met his eyes, and Iwaizumi nodded, a nod that made Oikawa want to trust him, an open sincerity in his face that made Oikawa's chest fill up. 

"Showing all of our secrets, Iwaizumi?"

Oikawa jumped, staring at Asahi where he had sworn he wasn't a mere trok before, just behind Iwaizumi. "How - what?"

"I have a gift for blending in," Asahi told him, and then looked at Iwaizumi. "Don't look so worried, Iwaizumi. I'm not going to tell anyone, after all, I'm not much better myself."

Oikawa glanced over to Iwaizumi, a question burning up his tongue, but Iwaizumi shifted his gaze, and Oikawa knew not to ask. It jarred him a little to realise that Iwaizumi knew what he was about to say, and Oikawa knew his answer, all without speaking a word. 

Asahi apparently hadn't noticed their exchange, because he skimmed his fingertips over the mossy surface of another, autumn-coloured plant, his face solemn. "Noya loved gleaning the plants too, and I let him, so I can’t talk.”

"Gleaning?" Oikawa questioned, and Asahi nodded. "These plants can catch memories, just like Seeing Forests, except they don't eat them. They just hold them. Our originators found out that we can slip in and out, experience glimpses of someone's past, as long as we don't spend too long in there. We call it gleaning. It's a lovely word for it, I think."

"And you accuse me of spilling secrets," Iwaizumi commented, one corner of his mouth lifted. 

"It's not a secret, it's a little-known fact," Aashi corrected him, smiling back. "Have you seen Yaku's crafting room yet, Oikawa? It makes this place look tiny." 

"I've seen the training area," Oikawa replied. "I can start to understand why you're able to spend most of your lives underground." 

"We don't, not really. Our assignments are mostly long term, like Daichi keeping an eye on that woman, or Iwaizumi overseeing the heir, but this is where we return to."

"Sounds just lovely," Oikawa commented, and Iwaizumi angled his head to the door. "We're gonna go visit Yaku."

"I'll see you around then."

The complex was a lot bigger than Oikawa had first assumed. The narrow, high corridors had a snake-like essence to them, as if your path was restricted, but as soon as you passed through a door, you realised that the corridors only contrasted the magnificence of the sections. Oikawa couldn't even define them as rooms - Moniwa, who had command over words rubbed on the skin, for various purposes - had a deep pool in the middle of his work, one which appeared bottomless when Oikawa leaned over it. He was warned not to stare too long, however, and feeling a little uneasy, he had withdrawn. It was like a pit of dark blue ink, and although there was natural light beaming through the room, none of it stayed on the surface, no gleams or reflections. 

Yaku's workplace was silent, something Oikawa found strange. Surely all of those metal pieces clicking together must make a sound, some sort of clinking? But the gears and cogs along the wall were soundless, the intertwining metalwork forming the walls smooth and cool to touch. He couldn't say the same for Yaku's temperament though - everytime Oikawa attempted or looked like he was about to make an attempt to touch something, Yaku seemed to have this innate sense to yell at him to leave it alone. 

There were no fires, no furnaces in his room, only long workbenches, various instruments scattered along the sides with bent, scarred metal, some of recognisable shapes, and some that Oikawa couldn’t begin to guess what they were being formed into. 

Iwaizumi showed Oikawa to his room, one unoccupied for reasons Iwaizumi didn't elaborate on. It was spacious, larger than Oikawa expected, even with a fireplace built into the wall, a shelf fixed above it with an empty bucket. At the foot of the bed, a bathtub rested, and Oikawa had never been so grateful to see one of those in his entire life. Oikawa drew his gaze across to another door which he assumed was the bathroom. 

“There’s fuel in there for the fire, if you want to wash yourself,” Iwaizumi told him. “I’d strongly advise you to. There should be a water source flowing into a tub in the bathroom you can use.” 

“I never expected you to be so civilised,” Oikawa commented, and Iwaizumi shrugged. “We do spend months here. It’s good to be comfortable. And clean.” 

Oikawa sighed with relief as he finally ditched his bags in the corner, rotating his shoulders, which felt like they had been battered by an entire forest of trees. Next to him, Iwaizumi slipped off the bag he’d taken earlier. 

“Hey, Oikawa?” 

“Yes?”

“Can I show you somewhere else?”

Oikawa eyed the bed. “Will it take long?”

“No.” 

“Okay.” 

Iwaizumi led him back down the corridor, rooms on either side, some with names attached to the outside, and some with the nameplates completely scratched off. 

"Here's the exit," Iwaizumi told him, indicating to a door that looked the exact same as the others. "And don't worry, you don't need the mark to get out of here."

He pushed on the handle and the door opened. Oikawa squinted at it. "It… it's a normal door? No deity magic attached or passwords needed?"

"If there's an emergency, all of those will only slow us down. But yeah, you need one to get in."

They headed up a stone staircase, one without light at the top, their footsteps being absorbed by the dirt packed around them. The only source of light was from loosely bound torches, half-flickering with a type of fire Oikawa couldn't identify. He assumed it was magic supplied by "The Lady" or some shit… if she was real, that was. He was beginning to doubt his previous conclusion. Could humans alone, with their limited powers, create something like this? 

They reached the top, and Iwaizumi laid his shoulder and palms flat against the wooden hatch, pushing upwards. Step by step, it rose, and orange light leaked through, throwing what appeared to be a golden sheen across Iwaizumi's sallow skin. Joining him, it only took a trok before the hatch was thrown back flat onto the ground, and they emerged from the ground. As Oikawa straightened up, he noticed that they weren't in the forest anymore. He stood with thigh-high grass swaying against his legs in a breeze Oikawa felt chill his nose, surrounded by mild hills. Shading his eyes as Iwaizumi closed the trapdoor again, he found the edge of the forest they'd passed through on the side of a hill, trees clustered together against the oncoming night, branches folded like spears stuck into the earth. 

"How big is that place?" Oikawa asked him, and Iwaizumi shrugged. "Big enough. Our numbers grow every year, so we keep expanding." 

"Grow? Aren't you supposed to be secret and exclusive? Do you have some stupid trials and tests to take to get in?"

"We never go searching for members," Iwaizumi told him. "We just take in those who seem the most lost."

"Including you?"

"I guess Daichi looked at me and figured that I needed a home," Iwaizumi answered, and somewhere deep in his chest, Oikawa couldn't bring himself to make a smart comment. He nodded, and let Iwaizumi lead the way. 

Crouching, Iwaizumi picked a path along the edge that joined the two hills, and something wafted across Oikawa's ears. Stopping, he cocked his head to the side, closing his head and Breathing out, heightening his senses for a moment. He could hear Iwaizumi's soft breathing, the creaking of the trees twirling up their tired branches, the faded whisperings of the grasses, and the steady rush of water coming from up ahead. 

He opened his eyes, and Iwaizumi was watching him. 

"Something wrong?"

"A waterfall, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa inquired, clambering down after him, and Iwaizumi smiled. 

"I should've known I couldn't keep it from you. But it's a little different."

"Oh? Tell me, how so?" 

Giving him one last smile, Iwaizumi turned his back, moving forwards. "You'll see."

Oikawa did indeed, see.

The track Iwaizumi was taking abruptly opened into a space between the mountains, as if a giant had found a ravine and punched it, leaving a massive crater. 

To their left, water surged down the side of the hill out of a break in the rocks, pouring into a lake, like liquid sky. The ripples from the water faltered around the middle, and Oikawa could see the round, gleaming sun, half-covered by the mountain's top, as if drowned within the reddened water. The lake continued, until on the other side, where it flowed into a crack in the mountain. 

Through the crack, Oikawa could see a glint of a pool, spread out down into the caverns beyond, shimmering over rocks in the shallower parts, blackened in the deeper areas. 

A thin ring of trees closed around the lake. Pokuls aligned the branches, encased in the folded leaves, but Oikawa could still see the dulled glow behind the green, splashing out enteral white light, ready for the night.

Oikawa felt himself becoming swept up in a sort of wonder he hadn’t experienced for a long time, the forgotten awe of stepping into a room full of books, the naive excitement he felt when he healed his friend’s broken arm for the first time. 

"I come here sometimes, and I thought you might like it, because of how excited you were over that waterfall we found…I mean, that might've because we were smelly, now that I think about it, but uh..." Iwaizumi scratched the back of his neck, gesturing vaguely at the sight. "So, uh, yeah."

"I -" Oikawa hesitated, watching how closely Iwaizumi was eying him. "It's...not bad at all." 

Iwaizumi cracked a smile, exhaling. "Isn't it beautiful?"

His face was open, hopeful. Despite the sparkling landscape beside him, Oikawa couldn’t take his eyes off of him. 

“It is,” Oikawa agreed, smiling back at him. No, that wasn’t right. He smiled for him. 

Iwaizumi’s eyes widened a fraction, and he lifted his head a little, as if wanting to survey Oikawa from a different perspective. Oikawa waited to see if he would realise he was staring with startled eyes, a clarity blowing across the sunken green.

“What is it?” Oikawa asked, tilting his head. 

“Nothing." Iwaizumi glanced away, a slow darkening of his cheeks becoming visible. "I mean, it's not nothing. Not anymore.” His palm ringed around the back of his neck as he swallowed. “ I remember what memory that asshole spirit took from me.” 

“Oh! What was it?”

Iwaizumi ducked his head, settling back on a waist-high rock. “Yui's smile.” 

His first crush. It made sense. Drifting over to him, Oikawa observed him curiously. “How is it possible that you remember it? Or is your skull so thick that they couldn't take it properly?”

Iwaizumi shrugged, slipping into a half-smile. “I’m not complaining." His eyes spun out over the view, on some faraway cloud of thoughts, and Oikawa trailed after it, allowing the silence to lower over them, prickling on the surface of his skin. 

"There's still some daylight left," Iwaizumi said suddenly. "Do you want to try and collect some pokuls?"

"Isn't that something children do?"

Iwaizumi's expression shuttered over, and he looked away, folding his arms over his chest. "Forget it, then."

"I didn't say I didn't want to," Oikawa amended, perceiving how Iwaizumi's brow lifted, how his whole face seemed to loosen up as he held in a smile. 

Pushing off of the rock, Iwaizumi let himself grin, already jogging towards the lake's edge. "Bet I can find more than you." He threw a look back over his shoulder, one that said "just you try and beat me."

"You wish," Oikawa retorted back, finding himself grin back, a competitive fire in his chest rousing him. He took off after him, leaping over small rocks and scattered branches, and Iwaizumi only sped up, until they were both bolting towards the trees, racing each other. 

Oikawa caught up with Iwaizumi just as they reached the first tree, and Iwaizumi reached out, shoving him away with one hand, with just enough force for Oikawa to stumble back, but not fall. 

"Cheater!" Oikawa cried out, watching as Iwaizumi swung himself up onto the lowest branch, still in the process of closing up. 

"We didn't make any rules," Iwaizumi reminded him, grinning down at him, and Oikawa, to his annoyance, couldn't fault that.

"Where's your sense of fairness, Iwa-chan?" 

"You're taller than me, that's not fair either," Iwaizumi shot back, prying a leaf as long as his arm back enough so the fruit was exposed. "And if you don't want to lose, I suggest finding another tree to climb instead of arguing with me."

Spinning back around, Oikawa took his advice.

Oikawa couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun. It felt childish, admitting that to himself - adults weren't supposed to have fun, after all - but it was true. He felt safe, and his thoughts weren't with his past, or future, or anywhere at all but now. 

They had found a fallen tree to sit on, watching the sunset over the mountains, their spoils rolling around in their laps. Pokuls were a faint red tint, rounded but spiked up at the top, the outer coating used to make medicine, the inner flesh for eating. 

Iwaizumi faced him, tossing up one airily and catching it again with ease. "I won."

"You had an unfair advantage," Oikawa accused. "Not all of us were fortunate to grow up doing this."

Iwaizumi chuckled, his elbows resting on his knees as he bit into the fruit, juices trailing down the edges of his mouth. "You have a point there, but I still won."

His left hand inched closer to Oikawa’s. Oikawa stilled, intensely aware of it, uncertain. If this was usual circumstances, he would’ve placed his hand on top of his, no reluctance. If it had been a decade earlier, Oikawa would’ve leapt in headfirst. But he’d seen what happened when he did. 

Also… he'd dated _Ushiwaka._ And not just dated - was _kilra_ with him, two Breaths intertwining, a deeper connection than any finger-ring. Gross.

"I still can't believe you dated that cretin," Oikawa said, laying his hands in his lap. "Every time I look at him I see no thoughts in that big head of his. Not a single one. All he thinks about is justice and being strong. So, maybe two thoughts! At the maximum."

“But they’re good thoughts. You know with him, what he says is what he means, and what he does is what he believes. I liked that. It didn't mess with my head."

“You say that as if it’s a strength.”

“It is. I never had to guess what he actually thought or whether he was angry at me. He'd say it straight out." 

“I don’t want people knowing what I'm thinking or believe,” Oikawa retorted. "Not like you, slinging 'The Lady,' around every two troks."

Iwaizumi shrugged, arching an arm back to sling the pokul casing into the lake. “She’s a common god to worship. It doesn’t raise any eyebrows.” 

"The more people can read you, the more they can manipulate you," Oikawa continued. "The only reason Ushiwaka gets away with it is because he doesn't pick up on subtext between words, and he's so ridiculously strong that it doesn't even matter if you do manage to unnerve him. I tried to work around him, and all I got was his stupid blank stare and him sticking to his convictions and still trying to convince me to go here."

Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows. "But you're here."

"Shut up, Iwa-chan. It's different. I'm here because of you, not him. And I am not joining you, no matter how hot your members are."

Iwaizumi snorted. "Akaashi, yeah? Can't say I've never noticed him myself. "

"Is it your mission to date all of your cult members? That'd make things a little awkward," Oikawa commented, cursing how dense Iwaizumi was. Yes, he had definitely meant Akaashi and nobody else. 

Iwaizumi raised his hands. "I was only being objective. You'd have to be blind not to notice him."

"Same as me, you'd have to be blind not to notice me," Oikawa bragged, placing a hand under his chin and smiling. "I'm the perfect portrait of beauty standards."

Oikawa saw Iwaizumi's gaze linger again, his response just a breath slower, more careful than usual. 

"Sure, if the painter was a two year old child."

Something had changed, and Oikawa didn't know what it was, but every movement felt deliberate, the air heavy between them, so weighty that it pressed down on the retort in Oikawa's mouth, bleeding it away. He could only stick out his tongue in retaliation. 

Stretching out his legs, Iwaizumi picked up his cloak, using it to gather up all the pokuls. He straightened up. "Come on, let's head back. We both could do with some rest. Especially you, after that loss."

Oikawa's eyes traced along the width of his shoulders, dancing over the straps of his light armour, and wondered if he felt it too, the subtle pull between them gaining strength. He wondered maybe if that was why Iwaizumi kept glancing away, for fear of it becoming too much. Oikawa knew he was.

Turning, Iwaizumi offered Oikawa his hand, the last cracks of sunlight outlining his figure against the trees, the mirror-like lake, and the sound of the waterfall rushed loud in Oikawa's ears. Breath short, Oikawa took it, his pride subsiding. 

As he stood, their gazes met, too close, and a shiver bit into Oikawa's ribs. It was almost as if he could see Iwaizumi's thoughts, and he could see Oikawa's. Blinking, Iwaizumi glanced down, at Oikawa's hand held loosely in his, at their hands neither of them had bothered to move. Oikawa didn’t feel like he was breathing, suspended within the time of a heartbeat, watching Iwaizumi, hoping, hoping. 

There was something about Oikawa, something about the way he was looking down at him with a glimmer in his agate eyes, the most vulnerable Iwaizumi had ever seen him, that caused Iwaizumi's breath to choke up his chest. Brown wasn't the right word for Oikawa's eye colour. They shined too much for that. Copper, Iwaizumi decided, was much closer to their true colour. As if when heated, they would flow molten down his cheeks. 

Iwaizumi wanted to touch him.

To run his hands over the curve of his cheek, to feel if it was as smooth and squishy as it looked, to feel how it changed when he smiled. To press a palm against his chest and feel his movements as he laughed, feel how his heartbeat sang when he Breathed, hear his voice breathless in his ear, to prove to himself that Oikawa's lips were as soft as they seemed. 

Since when had he wanted to kiss Oikawa?

Since he’d smiled out of happiness, and his eyes had turned to liquid metal. 

Iwaizumi blinked. Focus. He had an heir to get back and an urshuper to kill. He couldn’t be distracted by how attractive Oikawa’s smile was, how pretty his eyes were, how his lips formed around words. He couldn't let things spin out as they had before. He knew better now, better than to value one life against all others. And if he fucked up his mission again, because of him protecting one over the good of the whole country… Ushijima's past words would be proved right.

He backstepped, his hand falling out of Oikawa's.

"We should…" His mouth was dry. "We should probably rest." 

It was like a switch had flipped, or a landslide had crashed down. Oikawa's expression altered almost mechanically, so swiftly Iwaizumi nearly missed it, the tightening of his lips, the flattening out of his eyes. Iwaizumi felt something strike his chest, sore and large, as if a rock had been forced through his skin. 

"One of us does need his beauty sleep," Oikawa jeered before spinning back around, walking back towards the entrance. 

Was that disappointment in his voice? Iwaizumi couldn't tell. The moment had been broken, and Iwaizumi didn’t know how to grasp it again. It was a heavy silence that trailed behind them as they made their way back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you think I was done with angst? *rubs hands together like a little gremlin*  
> I had this bit written before chapter 395 and then !! I knew it, I knew Ushijima and Iwaizumi would get along!!
> 
> I actually don't think ao3's system works for chapter fics as well, because, well, since only new hits are counted and you can only leave kudos once, the only way I know people are actually reading this are through comments. And I'm exceedingly grateful to moon_island, TongueAflame, cathgotyourtongue, dead_as_hell, and FiveChikenNuggets for consistently commenting it makes me go ahhh!!! every time  
> You guys are the ones I'm posting for, and I really do hope you continue to enjoy this fic.  
> And as for the silent readers too, thank you for being here!


	10. Pasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok,,,this chapter has a few...steamier bits,, so if you're like below 13 and reading this,,, you shouldn't be and please consume media appropriate for your age so your brain develops properly unlike mine  
> (don't get ur hopes up. it's like the singular whiff of steam out of a kettle, nowhere near a sauna.)

The noise from the community room was audible as soon as they reached the end of the stairs, and, jogging the few steps to it, Iwaizumi ducked his head around the door. Everyone - Daichi must've arrived after he'd left - was gathered on one circular table, cards splayed haphazardly over the surface, cluttered with beers and arm-wrestling matches. 

“Iwaizumi! There you are!” Yaku called out, raising his mug which truly dwarfed his small hands. "Daichi's back, and you're back, we've gotta celebrate!"

Iwaizumi held up his bulging cloak. "I got us some pokuls, too!"

A cheer answered him, and he turned to Oikawa. “You’re welcome to join us, if you want.” 

Oikawa gave him a small smile. “You’re the only one who thinks that. Goodnight, Iwa-chan.” 

Frowning, Iwaizumi caught his arm before he turned away. "No, I'm not. You are welcome here."

He saw Oikawa's eyes run past him, into the open, orange-lighted space, his friends chattering and calling for him. 

"No," Oikawa said softly. "I'm not. Enjoy your night."

He pulled himself free and walked away, down the corridor, leaving Iwaizumi with a mouthful of words he couldn't say. 

"Iwaizumi! Get your ass over here, we've got a pint for you," Ennoshita urged him, and Iwaizumi finally stepped through the doorway, tearing his eyes away from Oikawa's back.

Oikawa could hear them from his room. Despite the length of the corridor, there was absolutely nothing to soak up the sound except dirt coated in wood, and he suspected that their drinking area spanned from the doorway he'd passed all the way to the back wall of his borrowed bedroom. 

It hadn’t ceased all evening, not through his steaming bath, or his nightly meditations. 

Sighing, both hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling, dirt and wood like everything else. Perhaps he should've taken Iwaizumi's offer, but he didn't feel like putting energy into charming a whole group of men that already thought of him as a selfish fuck. Maybe the label was deserved, but it still burned. The fact that he was a Breather didn't help things. Not for the first time, Oikawa wondered how much convincing Iwaizumi had to do to get him in here. How did he not see how everyone only acted to accept him? Really, there had to be some truth to Oikawa's insults. 

He was shocked out of his deliberations by a knocking on his door, uneven and so faint it crossed Oikawa's mind that maybe it was only someone falling into his back wall. Then it repeated, and Oikawa sat up, slinging his legs out of bed and padding over to the door. 

Unlocking it and yanking it open, he blinked. 

"Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi, his face flushed, one shoulder leaning hard against the wall, nodded, the motion far too exaggerated. “Yeah it’s me.”

“I can see that,” Oikawa commented. Had he really spent that long thinking? “Why are you here?” 

Iwaizumi leaned forwards against the doorframe, one hand extended, wobbling in the air. "Oikawa, I swear… I drank too much, I know, I know, don't fucking make a stupid joke about it, but I was thinking about you and your shitty fucking cute face and your personality and you, you how you're-"

"Iwa-chan, stop," Oikawa cut across him, and Iwaizumi pitched forwards, his head rolling with his motion as if he had no control over it. It was scary seeing Iwaizumi like this, so out of it his narrowed eyes couldn't even focus on Oikawa. 

"No," Iwaizumi slurred, holding up a finger. "I'm gonna say what I wanna say and you're not stopping me. You're kind. I know you are. You help people who can't help you back and you look out for Yahaba and it would've been so easy for you to stay in that cave but you didn't you came out and helped me and tried to calm everything down… you're kind, aren't you? Why do you fight so hard against it? It's been biting at me ever since I realised that you're actually kind and care, but…"

Iwaizumi trailed off. "I dunno. I'm confused." He stuck out a finger and jabbed it into Oikawa's chest. "You're a confusing man. Like are you into me or not? You give off all of the signals I think and yet you told me that Mattsun was bullshitting me about you liking me and that was fine I thought I didn't like you in that way but then you smiled at me for real.." He paused, gazing at Oikawa.

"Your face is so bitchy, but your smile is - is - it's the most beautiful one I've ever - ever seen. In my whole life," he told him, his expression earnest. "And now I just wanna hold your hand and k- but - what the fuck is up with you? I'm missing something, aren't I? I have to be. I have to…"

"Oh, isn't this fantastic?" Oikawa complained aloud, rolling his eyes at the heavens. "You're one of those talkative drunks. I thought you'd be the depressed silent type."

"Are you gonna answer me?" Iwaizumi demanded, and he stepped forwards, still clinging onto the doorframe one-handed for balance. “I wanna know. Am I imaginny - imagining this? Answer me.” 

Oikawa sighed, crossing his arms. "No, Iwa-chan. You're a very drunk man and I'm going to take absolutely no heed of everything you just said." 

"See?” Iwaizumi prodded at his chest with a wonky finger. “You are frustrating as fuck and unclear and -"

"Go. To. Bed," Oikawa ordered him, taking him by the elbow. "Where's your room? Do I really have to put you to bed like a two year old?"

"I am not a two year old. I'm thirty-two," Iwaizumi slurred back, but he allowed himself to be led by Oikawa down the hallway. "I'm a fucking adult who can communicate properly unlike some people - that's you. You can't communicate and you're a dip - diplow - dipshit."

"Diplomat," Oikawa supplied, bending down to rope one of his arms around Iwaizumi's torso. He was falling to the side, and his weight almost made Oikawa tilt over too. "Iwa-chan, you're too heavy."

"Hajime," Iwaizumi answered, his blinks slowing. "That's my name. And you can use it. To speak to me. If you want. It’ll sound nice on your lips. And with your voice. Your voice is so irritating and annoying but it's somehow calming I don't know how -"

"I think I'll pass," Oikawa said smoothly, lugging him further, trying to recall where Iwaizumi's room was, with the only light being from the glowing stones set into the wooden walls. All of those fucking doors looked the same. "Where's your room?"

"I dunno," Iwaizumi responded, and his knees gave out. 

Oikawa almost got dragged down, and he hissed out a breath, managing to stay on his feet, but Iwaizumi was slumped halfway to the floor. 

"For the gods' sake," Oikawa exhaled, guiding him to the ground. He straightened, looking at Iwaizumi curl up into a ball, a grown man resting his head on his forearms and in the process of passing out. He couldn't leave him there… could he? 

Sighing, he nudged Iwaizumi with his toe. Grumbling, Iwaizumi only wrapped himself up tighter, mumbling to himself. Oikawa couldn't decipher any words he was saying, and they sounded vaguely unfamiliar. His childhood dialect, maybe? Or his warrior one? Oikawa didn't really care at this stage.

"Fine," Oikawa submitted, and he knelt by Iwaizumi, shaking his solid shoulder. "Hey, look. Get up off of this dirty floor and you can stay in my bed, okay? All you have to do is get up. It's a good deal, right?"

Iwaizumi's bleary eyes opened a crack, regarding Oikawa. "I told you you were kind."

"And I'll be a lot less kind if you don't get up right now," Oikawa told him. "I'm tired and I want to sleep."

A smile curved up Iwaizumi's lips. "You admitted that you're kind."

He lifted himself up on shaky arms, clambering to his feet. He swayed back against the wall, blinking fast. "I … sleep. I need sleep. Sleepy."

"Yes, yes, you man child," Oikawa appeased him, seizing an arm around his chest. "Time to sleep."

He somehow managed to drag Iwaizumi all the way back up to his room, listening to Iwaizumi ramble all the way -

"And you should be easier on yourself! You don't, I mean, I haven't seen you eat a lot, and your shirt doesn't fit you as well as it did, and...."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

\- and he dumped him on the bed, closing the door behind him and praying nobody got the wrong idea. 

Looking over, he saw Iwaizumi had already latched onto a blanket around him, splayed out over the single-person bed. Releasing yet another sigh, Oikawa reached for the other blanket, bending over Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi's hand caught his upper arm, and he rolled onto his back, staring up at Oikawa, his cheeks flushed from drink, full lips damp. Oikawa's breath hitched as Iwaizumi spoke, low and certain. "C'mere."

He sat up, one heavy arm looping clumsily around Oikawa's neck, dragging him down, Oikawa's palms braced flat against the mattress. He had to put one knee on the bed to stop himself collapsing on Iwaizumi's chest, squeezing his eyes shut briefly to try and ease the desire flaming through him, push back the want to feel Iwaizumi's rugged hands sliding over his bare skin. 

Iwaizumi nuzzled into the crook of Oikawa's collarbone, his hands drifting warmly around the back of Oikawa's prickling neck, delving through his hair. Oikawa's lips parted, his breath turning thick in his throat, Iwaizumi's lily-tinged scent infusing the air, the weight of his palm on Oikawa's neck sending bolts of energy through him. 

“I’m gonna,” Iwaizumi murmured, the stink of alcohol hot on Oikawa’s skin. “I’m gonna kiss you when I’m sober. I don't care what Wakatoshi said anymore, I wanna kiss you, if you want me to. Because fuck, I don’t know if you do or not. It fucks with my head, you know, your flirting that I don't even know if it's flirting or if you're just like that-"

"Iwa-chan, slow down," Oikawa told him, and the force in his voice made Iwaizumi blink, confusion passing over his features. His hold on Oikawa loosened. 

Oikawa pulled back, taking Iwaizumi’s woozy face by the chin, his half-focused eyes sliding down blatantly, shamelessly to Oikawa’s mouth. 

“I know you’re not gonna remember shit in the morning, and that’s the only reason I’m telling you this,” Oikawa began, and Iwaizumi’s dreamy gaze rose up to his eyes again. “Eita was murdered by someone who blamed me for their child’s death. I couldn’t cure Terushima’s terminal illness… I had to watch as he - he died. I draw bad luck. If you kiss me, I don’t think -“ Oikawa hated it, hated the way his voice broke. “I don’t think I could not kiss you back. But I don’t think I can handle losing another lover. I just… won’t.” 

Something deep inside him hurt, as if only now surfacing. 

Placing a hand on his shoulder, he gently pushed Iwaizumi back down onto the mattress. “Go to sleep, Iwa-chan.” 

But Iwaizumi’s gaze wouldn’t move. He raised an unsteady hand, circling it around Oikawa’s cheek. “That’s… horrible. I think… I understand a bit now.” 

“Goodnight,” Oikawa said firmly, angling his face away, pulling the pillow from underneath his shoulder. "You won't need this, you're drunk enough to sleep anywhere. You're lucky that you're even getting the bed." 

"We… we shared beds before…" Iwaizumi's words were coming slow, addled by alcohol and the inevitable tug of sleep, his eyelids drooping. "Why not now?"

"I just told you. If you kiss me, I'll kiss you back. And then if you die again, that'll break me," Oikawa said, keeping his tone cheery and upbeat. "And since there's a very high probability that you're going to die, I think I'll just sleep on the floor, 'kay, Iwa-chan?"

"I…" Iwaizumi's eyebrows furrowed, a deep cleft in his forehead. "I don't know what to say to that." 

"Then don't say anything, and go the fuck to sleep." Oikawa rounded to the other side of the bed, avoiding Iwaizumi's eyes. 

He tossed down the pillow and blanket, sighing at how pathetic it looked. The first night here, and he didn't even get to use the bed. Typical. 

As he wrapped himself up in the blanket, he heard a grunt from the bed. "Night, Oiks."

"Goodnight, Iwa-chan," Oikawa whispered back, then he paused. A softer, "Goodnight, Hajime," left his lips, but he got no answer. 

He was fine by that. Iwaizumi's words to him were only sinking in now, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing sleep to overtake him so his words would fade away into the foggy memory of the early morning. If Iwaizumi's words were blurred, they would be easier to ignore, pass over, move on. By the gods, he hoped Iwaizumi wouldn't remember anything the next morning. 

_You're kind. I know i-_

Oikawa hit his fist against his forehead, knocking lightly. No. 

_But then you smiled at me for real and now I-_

Oikawa cursed whoever invented alcohol. Fucking truth-leecher. He made a note to never smile at Iwaizumi again. Not honestly, in any case. Never. 

_I’m gonna kiss you when I’m sober._

Iwaizumi's drunken rant kept branding itself into Oikawa's skull, burning into the bone inside, no matter how much he willed them away. 

_\- what the fuck is up with you?_

His sleep was dreamless that night. 

He woke to a rustling, and opened his eyes. 

Iwaizumi, standing by the half-ajar door, froze, then straightened up, clearing his throat. 

“Morning, Oikawa.” 

Yawning, Oikawa sat up, his shoulders aching from the hard floor. “Were you trying to sneak out? Shame on you, Iwa-chan. Face up to your actions.” 

“Ah…” Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck, closing the door again with his foot. His shirt was crumpled, half-hastily tucked into his trousers, and his hair was even more of a disaster, all rucked up on one side. Iwaizumi scratched his head, gaze ghosting away from Oikawa’s eyes.

“I’m…” Iwaizumi paused, and Oikawa thought he might’ve imagined it, but there was a pink flush across his cheeks. “I’m really sorry about last night, Oikawa. I rarely drink so much, and I should’ve known better. I keep forgetting that I can’t keep up with Daichi’s pace, no matter how much I want to.” 

Oikawa waved a hand, standing up and stretching out with his arms above him, back to Iwaizumi. “It’s fine, Iwa-chan. You didn’t vomit on my bed, or on me, so all is forgiven. Of course, you owe me twenty drogs for the bed, but it’s a friend’s discount.” 

He felt Iwaizumi glower at him. "You're not seeing a single drog of that."

"Then you'll be indebted to me for life," Oikawa answered, throwing him a smirk over his shoulder. "More than you are already, Iwa-chan, for saving your life three times.” 

He heard Iwaizumi exhale heavily - most likely in anger, but the awkwardness had dissipated, and Oikawa heard Iwaizumi sit on the edge of the bed with a creak.

“I, uh…” 

Oikawa turned to him, and yep, Iwaizumi’s face was definitely reddening. 

“Do you want to know what you said to me last night?” Oikawa prompted, and Iwaizumi grimaced. 

“Maybe.”

“Too bad. It’s my secret now,” Oikawa chirped back, tapping the side of his nose as he rounded to the other side of the bed. 

“Don’t be an asshole,” Iwaizumi grumbled back, catching his arm. “I need to know what I said, for damage control. It’s going to be uncomfortable enough since I spent the night in your room.” 

Oikawa raised his eyebrows. “And why would that be? Is it not common courtesy to help a poor drunk at your door?” 

Oikawa had to stifle a smile, watching Iwaizumi hesitate, chewing on his lower lip. He let go of Oikawa’s arm. 

“You know why. Stop bullshitting me,” Iwaizumi said, standing up. He swayed, still not quite steady. Naturally, Oikawa laughed in his face and shoved his shoulder. 

Iwaizumi fell back onto the bed, and he lay there for a trok, narrowing his eyes up at Oikawa. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re still a little drunk, aren’t you?” Oikawa placed a hand on his hip. “Don’t you have a big raid to command today?” 

“I wasn’t planning on getting that damn drunk,” Iwaizumi muttered back, running a hand through his hair as he sat up. “Fucking Yaku. I bet it was his fault I ended up like this. I can’t remember shit but I bet it was him.” 

He stood up again, eying Oikawa. “Don’t you dare.”

Oikawa lifted up his hands. “I wasn’t going to do anything. Shouldn’t you be going to prepare?”

“I was, but somebody pushed me down onto the bed,” Iwaizumi said, giving Oikawa a pointed look. 

Oikawa really, really wanted to push him down again, this time following him to the bed, straddling his hips and pressing their chests flush together, feeling the heat of Iwaizumi’s skin through his stupidly rumpled shirt and his breath on Oikawa’s lips, deep murmurs like smoke in his ear. 

Oikawa grabbed the door handle. “Then you’d better get to it, before Ushiwaka-chan comes looking for you. That’s the worst fate I can think of.” 

He yanked the door open, and Iwaizumi paused, eyes dilated as his gaze lingered for a moment too long on Oikawa. 

“Alright,” he said, stepping through the doorway. “You know when to meet us, right?” 

“Obviously,” Oikawa told him, going to close the door, but once again Iwaizumi slowed, half-out of the room. 

“Thanks for letting me stay with you,” he said. “I appreciate it.” 

His voice was low, heavy and rusky from the drinking.

Oikawa couldn't think of a smart retort. All he could think about was Iwaizumi's promise to kiss him while sober, and how he wished he could deny the disappointment gathering in the depths of his gut. 

“Yeah. It was no trouble,” he said, swallowing down the knife in his throat to the unnatural heat in his stomach. Iwaizumi’s damaged voice shouldn’t make him feel like this. 

“No insult?” 

Oikawa huffed out a breath. “No insult. I must be in shock that you actually appreciate my goodness for once.” 

As Oikawa watched, his Adam’s Apple dipped up and down in Iwaizumi’s throat, and he looked away, drumming his fingers against the doorframe. “I’d better go. I’ll see you later.” 

This time, he turned and left without waiting for Oikawa to respond. 

A little while later, Oikawa slid into the room they’d agreed on, the Room of Order. This time, the guard wasn't outside, and he walked in unopposed.

It was a broad room, with seats littered about a table, many of them unoccupied. Iwaizumi stood to his right, leaning over the table, which held a massive, lightly-sketched map of the castle. Oikawa's eyes drew over it, impressed. Whoever had drawn it, their precision had been amazing, the lines sure and accurate. The castle’s layout has always reminded him of a flower, with the most essential gathered in the middle, walled petals of workers radiating outwards.

Iwaizumi had changed his armour, still leather, but with short, stiff plates layered over his shoulders, giving them an even wider appearance. The straps crossed over his chest, above a black shirt, something that gave him an air of formality Oikawa hadn't seen before. It matched well with his dark hair. He gave Oikawa a low nod as he entered, fingers splayed over the yellowing paper.

He recognised most of the attendees, Asahi giving him a little wave to his left, Kenma, eyes low and absorbed in some wooden hand-puzzle, Ushijima and Daichi across from Iwaizumi, some grey-eyed person and Akaashi seated on either side of Iwaizumi. They both caught Oikawa's eyes and nodded at him, and Oikawa nodded back. There was one more, directly opposite Oikawa. 

An unfamiliar man, his feet propped up on the table, cut his gaze to him with flat-lidded eyes. His hair was the colour of wet straw, paired with inky black undertone to it. His jaw was square and set as he examined Oikawa, and Oikawa put back his shoulders, staring coolly back as he sat down. 

“Ay, Iwaizumi, ain’t it weird how all of our rules mean nothing and a skut can just walk -“

Iwaizumi held up a fist. “He’s part of this plan, and it’s crucial we all know what we’re doing. Ignorance will make this all collapse before we know it.” His eyes travelled over to meet Oikawa’s. “He stays.” 

Ennoshita frowned, but their eyes passed over to Akaashi, who gave a nod. "If Iwaizumi says it's okay, it's okay."

"Of course it's okay," Oikawa announced, trying to ignore Kenma's glinting eyes on him. "I'm me, and your lives are all about to improve."

The man didn't look convinced, only placing a foot on the edge of the table, pushing back into his swinging chair. “Do we even know for sure the heir was entrusted to him?” 

“I was in the room when the king announced it," Iwaizumi assured him. "We can trust him, Atsumu."

“And yet nobody else alive but you can verify that.” Atsumu’s eyes narrowed. “He could be a duogenus, a fuckin'... whats the term? Memory manipulator? What the Flightless skut is."

Oikawa saw Daichi tense, his shoulders riding up underneath his armour. "Memory moulder," he corrected him, giving him a cool stare. "And please refrain from insulting my boyfriend."

"I'm just calling it like it is." Atsumu waved his hand. "Yeah, anyways, that, as well as a Breather. He’d have plenty of chances to selectively put that memory in there.”

Iwaizumi sighed. “Trust me, he doesn’t need white to manipulate. But he can’t alter memories.” 

“Do you know that for sure?” Akaashi pushed.

Iwaizumi hesitated, and a silence fell over the room. 

“'Tis a shame fucking someone doesn’t reveal if they’re a duogenus,” came Atsumu’s comment. “Maybe Iwaizumi might know then.” 

Iwaizumi’s fist clenched, creasing up the map beneath it. “This isn't the time, Atsumu. Have you not changed at all?"

"Excuse you, have you seen me?" Oikawa interjected. "We are nowhere near the same hotness level."

Atsumu dismissed him with an easygoing shrug. “I was just saying, t'would be handy. Nothin’ more than that.” 

“It wouldn’t be any use to you,” Iwaizumi retorted back. 

“You know what? I don’t think the heir needs saving anymore,” Ennoshita said. “I think we can all just sit here and listen to you two argue.” 

Oikawa cocked an eyebrow over at Ennoshita, noting their dead stare, as if weary of the argument. 

"I have a concern," Ushijima voiced, and tapped his arm. Everyone nodded, as if understanding his concern from nothing more than that. 

Oikawa frowned, wondering why they all had their hands wrapped around their opposite upper arms, until he remembered that they could talk using their weird scar things. 

“Oh, are you guys talking about me in front of me? That's so rude. Didn't your mothers ever teach you proper polite ways of communicating with others?"

“Iwaizumi is trying to convince us that you are trustworthy enough so we can share this plan with you," Ennoshita answered. "Since you aren’t doing much to change our minds.”

“I wasn’t aware I had to,” Oikawa said dryly. “The king trusted me to take care of his son and his kingdom’s negotiations. I'm not sure if you realise this, but that was a sizable responsibility."

“That was the king. We are the Form," Akaashi interjected. "We are not bound by the king's decisions."

“The king trusted someone who betrayed him to Aecus,” Ushijima said. "We have no solid suspects, but it had to be someone high up. We cannot rule you out."

Kenma’s eyes flashed to Oikawa for an instant. “He isn’t a duogenus.” 

“How does he know?” Oikawa demanded. 

“Kenma’s…. a special sort of perceptive," Daichi provided, shooting a quick look of sympathy over to Oikawa. 

Examining Kenma's sharp golden eyes akin to cut crystal in sunlight, Oikawa didn't find it hard to believe. 

"We're wasting time," Iwaizumi's voice sliced through the silence. "We know Oikawa didn't manipulate my memory -"

"But perhaps someone else did," Atsumu suggested, and Iwaizumi glared at him. 

"There's too many unknowns to draw any sort of a viable conclusion from this argument. We move forward on the assumption that Oikawa had nothing to do with Torem's fall," he continued. "Daichi, do you have any additional information on her?"

They ran through the information they had on Aecus and from Daichi's observations of her, and Oikawa only listened, aware that Atsumu would undoubtedly throw him out at the slightest evidence of possibly being the traitor. 

"Oikawa can hang back and heal anyone who needs it," Akaashi determined. 

Oikawa frowned, placing a hand on the table. "Hold on. I was given just as much responsibility for the heir as Iwa-chan was." 

Atsumu snorted. "Iwa-chan?"

As Iwaizumi looked straight ahead, the muscles in his jaw tightening, Oikawa continued. 

"You can't expect me to sit back and play healer when I was entrusted with his safety-"

"Good job with that," Atsumu muttered. 

Oikawa ignored him. "-so either I'm going in with you or I'm going in on my own. It's your choice. And this is just a guess, but it appears to me that you don't exactly have the numbers to spare for this task. You can't afford to have a healer so far away."

His eyes flowed from one person to the next. 

"Considering this whole mission was constructed because you two lost the heir, I see nothing wrong with him redeeming himself," Akaashi mentioned, and was met by nods. 

"It's only fair," Asahi piped up. 

"You would've gone in regardless to rid her of power before she gains a foothold," Oikawa retorted. "Don't pretend that all of this is my fault."

"But certainly not as soon as this, with such little planning and information," Akaashi rebutted him. "We are forced to move on behalf of the heir's wellbeing." 

Iwaizumi held up a hand. "Enough. Are we all agreed to incorporate Oikawa into our plans?"

Everyone nodded except Atsumu. 

Closing his eyes, Iwaizumi spoke, brittle and tired. "Atsumu, your objections?"

"Yeah, I uh, think you're compromised. Your… personal interest in this skut has swayed you. Aren't I right, Kenma?" He glanced over his shoulder to Kenma, who ignored him. Looking back around, he jabbed his thumb at Kenma. "He backs up my point."

“Piss off,” Kenma said. 

Iwaizumi inhaled, pressing a hand flat on the table. “I have a personal interest to protect everyone in this room, even you. Oikawa isn’t any different. Your fixation on him is delaying every decision.” 

"I agree with Iwaizumi," Daichi pitched in, staring hard at Atsumu. "We will get nowhere without trusting each other's judgement." 

"Fine. But when things go wrong, don't say that I didn't warn ye," Atsumu hammered a heel on the table, blocking Oikawa's view of his face. Despite that, Oikawa could feel his eyes pierce through them, a force stronger than light. "Iwaizumi, I agree on the condition that we'll make a contingency plan in order to cover a betrayal by that skut."

"Alright," Iwaizumi submitted, glancing around. His gaze skipped over Oikawa. "Everyone in consensus?" 

This time, everyone nodded. It might've been Oikawa's imagination, but there were a lot more certain nods, comforted by the backup plan. Oikawa's hands lowered into his lap, clenching into fists. It was the same back in Torem’s castle. It would always be the same. 

  
  


Almost everyone had filtered out, apart from Atsumu, who was staring at Oikawa with a sort of simmering in his expression, as if he wasn't quite sure what to think yet. His flat-lidded eyes didn't move, and Oikawa stretched back in his chair, not dropping his gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Iwaizumi hesitate momentarily by the doorway, then Ennoshita laid a hand on his back and pushed him out of the room. 

As soon as they were alone, Atsumu spoke. 

“You’re good, aren’t ya? First you weaseled your way into Torem’s counsel, and now here.” 

Oikawa wished he was capable of spitting clear across the table. Instead, he shrugged. "There must be something about us that makes us irresistable. My humble apologies." 

"Connivers," Atsumu muttered out, swinging his legs off of the table and standing up. "You're all freaks, ya know that?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Sum-kun," Oikawa said, curving his mouth up into a smile. "You might need this freak's help one day."

"Huh…" Atsumu lifted a hand, tapping his temple. "I think you'll help me no matter what I say, because it's yer goddamn job. Just like it's mine to protect this group."

Seemingly with nothing more to say and wanting to hear nothing else from Oikawa, he walked out, and Oikawa felt his smile drop down into a scowl. What had Iwa-chan said again? That they were all good people? He understood his reservations to a certain degree, but he didn't have any need to act so confrontational about it. Sighing, Oikawa got to his feet, realising why Iwaizumi had warned him before coming here. 

As soon as Oikawa walked out, he noticed Ennoshita and Iwaizumi nearby, huddled against the wall, speaking in voices not quite low enough to escape Oikawa's hearing. 

“Iwaizumi, you spent a night in his room, and when you were drunk as well - of course they're going to talk-“

They cut off as soon as they saw Oikawa, nodding politely. 

Iwaizumi’s jaw was tight. 

“Something up?” Oikawa asked, drifting over to them with a smile. 

“Nothing,” Iwaizumi said at the same time Ennoshita questioned, “Did you fuck Iwaizumi?” 

Iwaizumi turned to Ennoshita. “I already said that -“

“I need to make sure,” Ennoshita stated, gaze trained on Oikawa. “So did you?” 

“Even if I was the sort of despicable person who would take advantage of a drunkard, Iwa-chan was so incapable of staying conscious that it would’ve been impossible,” Oikawa told him, dropping the smile. Why the fuck did they want to know? “Not to mention I’d rather live a life of chastity before having sex with him.” 

“There you go,” Iwaizumi shot back at Ennoshita. “You can tell Atsumu to stop spreading those stupid rumours, or I will. And I won’t nearly be as gentle as you.” 

Ennoshita nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I’ll have a word with him, but I can't guarantee anything. You two do seem… close. Try not to let him get under your skin. Thanks for your help, Oikawa-san.” 

Oikawa frowned. “San?” 

“They’re only twenty five,” Iwaizumi explained, and Oikawa’s eyebrows shot up. 

“You look older than us!” 

“Noted,” Ennoshita said dryly. “I’ll make sure to tell my body to calm down a bit with the wrinkles.” 

As they walked away, Iwaizumi sighed deeply, putting his hands on his hips. “I should’ve never gotten that drunk. I should’ve known better, but it was so good being back here with Daichi and Ushijima and Yaku…” he sighed again, ruffling his hair, then glancing over to Oikawa. “I'm sorry you got caught up in it. And I don’t even know what I said to you, but I’m sorry.” 

“You called me a dipshit.” 

“I’m sorry for everything but that,” Iwaizumi amended. He exhaled, closing his eyes. "Seriously, though, what did I say?" 

"I'm sure you can guess."

Iwaizumi swallowed, eyes flicking over to Oikawa. "Just tell me. Anything I said, or… did. I need to know."

A teasing retort was on the tip of Oikawa's tongue, but he pushed it back. Something about Iwaizumi… he was nervous, Oikawa realised. He was actually nervous. 

"Does it matter?" Oikawa told him. "You were so drunk that you couldn't walk. It was just a load of shit." He patted Iwaizumi's shoulder. "Nothing for you to be concerned about anymore." 

"Oikawa…" Iwaizumi shook his head. "Please." 

Oikawa’s breath hitched. 

“You went on about how you know you drank too much, and then about how confusing and frustrating I was,” he said. “Then you called me kind a load of times, couldn’t remember where your room was, collapsed in the hallway, and I dragged you back to mine. And - and then you had the audacity to fall asleep on my bed, so I had to sleep on the floor.” 

Grimacing, Iwaizumi nodded his thanks. “Alright. I feared worse.”

“Worse?”

Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck. “Thought I might’ve tried.... I tend to… it doesn’t matter. I can’t say I’ve a great track record when it comes to drunk decisions.” 

“Who does?”

“Fair point.” 

Oikawa toyed with the idea of pushing it, just to see how red Iwaizumi's cheeks would get, but he decided he'd had enough for the moment, and switched focus. 

“Why do you let Atsumu get under your skin?” Oikawa asked. “You know he’s only trying to get a reaction from you, because you’re so uptight and stuck to your duty.”

“I think he enjoys it, enjoys seeing me retaliating on his level,” Iwaizumi theorised. “I understand, but it’s hard to ignore. You heard what he was saying today, and that was mild. He used to focus on my failed relationship with Ushijima, but it appears he’s switched his attention to you. I’m sorry. He's not too fond of magickers, and neither is his brother.” 

“I don’t care. He’s the same breed as me, I tried to irritate you as much as possible too. You truly make it too easy, Iwa-chan.” 

“You’re different.”

“How so?”

“Just are.” Iwaizumi frowned. “Wait, I’m uptight?” 

"It took you a while to notice, didn't it? Perhaps I should add 'slow-witted' to my insults more often."

"I tune out your insults by now, because only half of what you say has any fucking relevance," Iwaizumi replied. "I'm not uptight. I just know when to take things seriously." 

He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, as if trying to physically reaffirm his statement. Something within Oikawa softened. A smirk leaked onto his lips as he tilted his head back.

"Someone's a little defensive. Any particular reason for that?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Iwaizumi stared at him, dead-eyed. Right as he was about to answer, a voice chipped up from behind them. 

"Iwaizumi - great, I've been looking for you."

They turned, and Yaku bounded down the corridor towards them, about five swords sheathed and dangling back and forth on his waist as he moved. 

"What is it?"

“Made you something.” 

Yaku reached down and tugged out the sword at his left hip. “We’ll be up against magickers, and I’ve learned a few skills since you’ve seen me last. This blade is resistant to a Breathers’ Breath, Fracturers’ touches, and a Brickers’ pushes. That's all that's been tested, but it should stand up to other types of white too. Try it out later, and thank me now.” 

It was unnecessarily gorgeous. Oikawa found himself drawn to it, the way the silvery-white hilt contrasted against the darkness of Iwaizumi's fingers, how it curved around his hand with just the right amount of clearance. Tilting it back and forth, Oikawa saw how Iwaizumi's gaze ran sharply across it, observing how the light reflected onto the ground, as if the edge sliced it, enhanced it. The blade was dark-coloured, somewhere balancing between black and grey, tapered to a fine point at the end. 

"Yaku, it's perfect. Thank you," Iwaizumi praised, hefting the sword, lightly tossing it from hand to hand. "Oikawa, care to test it?"

Oikawa Breathed, and his Breath skirted off the blade, leaving no mark, as if running into bedrock. 

"Impressive," Oikawa commented, and Yaku straightened up, standing just a little taller. 

"I know, right?" His gaze flicked over to Oikawa. "I'll get you fitted out with something too, if you want. I should have time after modelling another sword for Ushijima." 

"I'm okay," Oikawa said, pushing back the sleeves of his cloak to reveal the daggers strapped to his forearms. "These are - well, I'll just show you."

Sliding one out into his palm, he handed it over to Yaku, who examined it with attentive eyes. "Who made this?"

"I… I had a partner who was gifted at precision," Oikawa told him. "He made them for me. They're not white-resistant, but they haven't let me down yet."

"Wait," Yaku said, his thumb drawing over an insignia on the dagger's hilt, near the bottom. "I know of him. You were _kilra_ with Eita Semi?"

Oikawa's mouth hardened. "Yeah."

"I heard he passed on," Yaku said gently, passing the dagger back. "I'm sorry. But you're right - you don't need a new weapon. There is no way I can craft something finer than that." 

Iwaizumi touched Oikawa's arm. 

"It was a long time ago," Oikawa said, pushing down the choking sensation in his throat. He waved a hand. "It's fine." 

"Wasn't he friends with Ushijima?" Yaku mentioned. 

"That's how Ushiwaka found me in the first place," Oikawa sighed out, sheathing his dagger again. "Eita told him of my abilities, and I think Ushijima was fascinated." 

“Why? You’re just like any other Breather,” Iwaizumi said, and Yaku snickered. 

“Must you crush me like that? You're so cruel - heartless!" Oikawa accused. 

“He has a point, though,” Yaku added. “It’s not like Ushijima to acknowledge people’s abilities without an exceptional reason. I know you're a Breathing master, but it isn't as if you're the only one."

Oikawa pressed his lips together. “Ask Ushiwaka. I have no idea what goes on in that thick skull of his.” 

He had a fairly good idea why. He felt Iwaizumi surveying him, and he made an effort to keep his expression neutral, which was second nature to him by now, perhaps even his first nature. Still, whenever Iwaizumi regarded him with that deep seriousness in his expression, it made Oikawa worry. 

"Speaking of Ushijima, I promised him I'd run through some exercises with him," Iwaizumi mentioned, glancing over to Oikawa. "Do you want to come for some practice, too? It'll be good to spar with someone different."

"I'd rather die."

Yaku raised his eyebrows. "We can arrange that." 

Iwaizumi chuckled. "You can find your way back to your room, right? And remember, if you change your mind you're welcome to join us." 

"Mm. I doubt it. I think you're insane to keep training," Oikawa declared. "I'm going to go back to my room and relax."

"Alright. I'll let you know when food's done."

Oikawa was far from relaxed. He sat on the edge of his bed, back stuck straight up, Breathing regularly, trying to judge how far he could possibly push himself without dying. What he'd told Mattsun was true - his body was strong, stronger than a regular human's, but he had never fully found its limits, especially under these conditions. It was difficult though -his thoughts wouldn't leave Oikawa alone, and the mention of Eita only summoned more ghosts. He should leave. He knew they didn't have the numbers to pull this off. Maybe reclaiming the heir would work, but retaking over the whole kingdom? He knew chances were that they would all be slaughtered by her as easily as Iwaizumi was. What reason did he have to be here? 

Oikawa gritted his jaw, trying to concentrate on relaxing the pinch on his lungs. He had a debt to Torem. He owed him to try his best, to protect his son, but Oikawa wasn't willing to die for him. Was this the best way to watch over Tobio, or was he being selfish? Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi with his roughened hands and soft touch, wanted him here, but nobody else did.

Oikawa inhaled, and slumped forwards, fingers digging at the roots of his hair. 

Iwaizumi knocked on Oikawa’s door. His body still ached from the hits Ushijima had landed on him, and although he had washed up the best he could, he had a suspicion that he was still sweating. Thankfully, he hadn't vapourised any weapons, and he thought he was grasping his power a bit better, but he still felt it there, loosely squirming underneath his skin, waiting for a moment where his attention was taken away from it. It scared him, but not as much as it once had. He had Oikawa to thank for that. 

Speaking of which, that bastard still hadn't answered his door. 

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi called out, knocking again, bringing the side of his head closer to the door. "Are you in there?"

A flash of panic rippled through him. Had Oikawa left? 

The door hit against his head as it opened, and Iwaizumi backed up quickly, rubbing his scalp. Fuck, he always forgot that those fucking doors opened outwards. 

He heard a snicker, and he glowered at Oikawa, who instantly cut off his sniggering and glared right back, nose and lips scrunched up into a pout.

"I was having a bath," Oikawa grumbled, his hair loose, tumbling down to his shoulders. "Could you have chosen a worse time?"

Wetness was slowly soaking down the shoulders of his white shirt, turning it translucent, and his skin shifted underneath the thin sheen as he angled a hand on his hips. "Well?"

"Uh," Iwaizumi said, then brought up a hand to his mouth. By the Lady, how had he not kissed him while drunk? Had he? Surely he would’ve remembered that… "Sorry. I didn't know."

"Clearly," Oikawa told him, stepping back from the door. "Since it doesn't seem like you're going to leave, you might as well come in."

"Thanks."

Oikawa had made himself a home, a home that reminded Iwaizumi of a nest. The bath in the middle of the room was still steaming, pages and a quill stacked by the tub. Iwaizumi craned his neck to get a glimpse of the top page - was that the moss from the Seeing forest?

"Iwa-chan, I didn't know you were this nosy," Oikawa popped up beside him, shouldering him as he passed over to the desk, pulling it out. "Sit down and stop snooping at my stuff."

As he found a stool in the corner to sit on and dragged it over, Iwaizumi glanced over Oikawa's desk, noticing the pages half-covered with scribbles and diagrams. It looked like vague, hulking beasts, interspersed with messy sketches of plants, writing angled all over the page. "Are you writing something?"

"Nothing to be concerned about," Oikawa told him, outstretching a hand to ruffle up his hair. His fingers felt magnetic, lithe and swift through his hair. Iwaizumi found it difficult to raise a hand, catching Oikawa by the wrist. 

"Alright. Look, I want to talk to you."

"We are talking?"

"About something specific."

"Then just tell me. You're dancing around the point beautifully, well, for someone who has your command of language." Oikawa gave him a little empathetic smile, one that grated on Iwaizumi's nerves. Holding in a sigh, Iwaizumi waited until Oikawa had plopped down on the opposite side of the desk, sweeping all of his writings away into the drawer below.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay with the plan,” Iwaizumi said, and Oikawa smirked. 

“If I had a problem with it, I would’ve spoken up in that meeting,” he replied, linking his fingers together and balancing his chin on it. “You and I both know that. So tell me, Iwa-chan, what are you really here for?” 

Iwaizumi sighed. “You’re too analytical."

“But I’m right.” 

“Yeah. Damn you, you are. I wanted to know your thoughts on our plan. Your honest thoughts.” 

“A lowly skut’s opinion?” Oikawa lifted his eyebrows. "Why would you ever request that?"

Iwaizumi could feel his expression darkening, annoyance flaring up his chest. “Don’t ever call yourself that. You know the castle as well as I do, maybe the inside even better. Do you think we have a chance?” 

Oikawa’s expression grew flat, almost bored as he ran his fingers along the edge of the table. “As much of a chance as you can have, with your numbers."

"What would you do differently?"

Letting out a dry chuckle, Oikawa raised his eyes, regarding Iwaizumi with a coldness that sent rigidity bolting through Iwaizumi, his body tensing as if he was about to dive into a fight. He steeled his jaw, waiting for Oikawa to answer, not dropping his gaze. 

"You're the war strategist. I'm just a diplomat," Oikawa told him. "What do I know of overthrowing a castle? Nothing."

"You disagreed with some things in the meeting, I saw it on your face," Iwaizumi persisted, and he saw Oikawa's eyes twitch, as if he had seen something he wasn't supposed to. "I didn't want to call on you with everyone else there, but you can tell me now."

He took out a map of the castle, marked with the plan, and unfurled it on the table. Oikawa's eyes scanned it, unblinking, as if making notes, imagining tiny people scurrying across the surface. 

"I know that I'm missing something," Iwaizumi said. "How she got in in the first place, how the king's forces were overwhelmed so quickly. Do you know anything she could've used?" He laid his finger on the map, tracing down the corridors. "I know of this one here, and that one over there, by the stables. None of which are close enough to the king's chambers to kill him so quickly."

Oikawa extended one long finger, grazing the paper above a room just down the hall from the king's former room. "That's my study, there." He moved to the right, his eyes squinting, trying to orientate himself. "And there's the exit I escaped from when I knew what was happening. Although her forces didn't go through there, I know there's a much bigger network beneath the castle than you or I know about. With proper scouting, you could use them. Look -"

He showed Iwaizumi some passageways branching underneath the castle, secret compartments used to hold the king's valuables, and all the while Iwaizumi was rehashing the plan over and over in his head. She might've blocked them off, but again, she mightn't have. He prayed that she would assume they didn't know about them. 

"I wish we had time to properly map them out." Iwaizumi sat back, examining the map, feeling frustration build in him. "I don't understand how she knew of them. Daichi was watching her for three years before this happened - his forewarning was the only reason I managed to get out with Tobio in time - but he had no idea she was about to mount an attack like this until right before." 

"She can teleport, apparently," Oikawa reminded him, his mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "That's a bit unfair, but it might explain how she planned all this without him knowing."

"Yeah, how the fuck can she do that?" Iwaizumi shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it, and it doesn't seem a natural derivation from any abilities I know about." 

Oikawa dropped his gaze again, finger resting on his study. "I have information stored in my study, of all the types of magickers encountered and recorded, from stories and stone carvings. During the raid, I'm going to try and get some, even if we are forced to retreat. We could find a hint there - perhaps she's a duogenus of some sort. They're always unpredictable bastards."

Iwaizumi glanced up at him, and Oikawa was holding in a smirk. "Fuck off. This unpredictable bastard is giving you a place to stay and food to eat." 

"I didn't say anything about how it reflected on you," Oikawa said lightly, and Iwaizumi drummed his fingers on the table, hard. 

“You never say anything directly, do you?” 

"Some people get what I'm saying. Some people aren't thick like you." 

Iwaizumi levelled his stare at Oikawa. This was why he liked - had liked Ushijima. He could feel something else moving beneath the surface of Oikawa's words, something elusive and slippery, skidding like dust over his grasping fingers. If he spent just a bit more time with him - if Oikawa let him in just a little more - Iwaizumi felt like he could know what he was actually saying. 

He pressed his lips together. "I can't help it."

Oikawa's eyes widened, and his hands lifted up, floating in the air anxiously. "Iwa-chan, I didn't mean - you're not thick."

Iwaizumi exhaled, shaking his head. Crossing his arms, he leaned backwards, tilting his head up to the ceiling. "I know I miss things. I know I'm not as perceptive as you, and I can't read you fully, yet, but I'm trying, alright? That's all I can do."

Lowering his head, he saw Oikawa staring at him, and a jolt sparked up Iwaizumi's spine. 

"I know that I'm hard to read," Oikawa said softly. "Would it surprise you to know that you're the one that can read me the best in a long time?"

Iwaizumi blinked. "What? Yeah, it would. Is that true?"

Oikawa shrugged, lifting a hand to brush a strand of fallen hair behind his ear. "Perhaps." 

Iwaizumi couldn't help himself. He laughed, his arms unfolding in front of his chest, and Oikawa's answering smile told him that he knew exactly what he'd been doing. 

"The Lady bless the day I get a simple yes-no answer from you," Iwaizumi told him, and Oikawa's smile broke into a grin. "I think you mean curse. There's a reason I'm so cryptic."

"Apart from you being a bastard?"

Oikawa winked at him. "Maybe, maybe not."

Iwaizumi suddenly felt like his chest had been stuffed full of cotton, like he was trying to breathe through dried clouds. He swallowed, resting his forearms on the table, his grin fading. Were they - they were, weren't they? He hadn't even meant to. 

As if realising the same thing, Oikawa fell silent across from him, an occasion Iwaizumi would usually be grateful for. 

The moment hung there, the air thickening.

Iwaizumi cleared his throat, leaning forwards to curl up the map. "I'd better get going. I'll need to do a few small revisions of the plan with Akaashi, but I'll keep everyone updated. Get some rest before the final gathering tonight, alright?"

When he looked up, Oikawa's elbows were perched on the table, his chin placed upon his laced-together fingers. "I will." He spoke fast, eyes mirroring Iwaizumi's motions. Iwaizumi tucked the rolled map underneath his arm, unsure of what else to say.

Standing up, Iwaizumi rounded the table, squeezing Oikawa's shoulder, covered with his thin, wet shirt. He still could feel the dull heat from Oikawa's skin against his palm. The fabric was thin, so terribly thin. "Thanks, Oikawa." 

"No problem," Oikawa chirped back, blinking up at him. "I don't know how you handled things before I came along, really. You have my sympathies, it must've been tough on your two brain cells."

There was something else intertwined with his voice, some sort of strain that hadn't been there before. It hadn't been there the evening they'd spent together at the lake, Iwaizumi knew that for certain. Were the names Atsumu calling him affecting him? He wouldn't blame him. Or maybe it was the nightmares coming back? Iwaizumi didn't doubt that if they had, Oikawa wouldn't tell him. Or it could be Yahaba's absence? Even Iwaizumi himself felt that gap, and he hadn't spent as much time with him as Oikawa had.

Iwaizumi was aware of the fact that his hand had lingered on Oikawa's shoulder for longer than necessary, too knotted up in his own head. He dropped his hand, hoping he hadn't overstepped his boundaries. 

"You know you can talk to me, yeah?"

Oikawa shifted around on his chair to face him, eyes narrowed. “Where is this coming from?"

Iwaizumi shrugged. "Just a feeling."

He felt Oikawa regard him, almost as if analysing an enemy. 

"Thank… you?" Oikawa's tone almost made it sound like a question.

Iwaizumi chuckled, padding towards the door. "Sorry, did I confuse you?"

"That would require you to be smarter than me," came Oikawa's retort, and normality flooded back. 

Reaching the door, Iwaizumi glanced back, at Oikawa leaning on the table, his head propped on one hand, the other gouging lines in the desk’s surface. His gaze was somewhere Iwaizumi couldn't imagine.

"Not necessarily," he said, and Oikawa's focus drifted back to him. 

"Stupidity can be confusing, too. Especially to the smart ones," he followed up, and was gratified by Oikawa breaking into a short laugh, his shoulders relaxing. 

"You insult yourself so well, Iwa-chan, you might put me out of a job!"

Iwaizumi smiled to himself, opening the door. "I'll see you later. That'll be your chance to redeem yourself."

His last view of the room was Oikawa sticking his tongue out at him. Pressing a hand over his mouth, Iwaizumi hid his smile as he returned to his room, attempting to ignore the glow in his chest. 

Once dry, Oikawa wandered back to Asahi’s.

What Iwaizumi had showed him of the plants had sparked his interest, and he felt a certain allure towards them. What history lay lapped between those leaves? He had been taking notes on the Form, the power structures, the different abilities, but more information was always welcome. 

And, he badly needed a distraction from how Iwaizumi had smiled at him. 

He stood outside the door, and clucked his tongue, examining the little lightning bolt carved into it at Oikawa’s heart-level. Fingers extending, he placed them on the smooth surface, and Breathed, swirling it around his hand. Nothing. 

Oikawa exhaled. It was probably configured only to activate with their stupid mark, whatever different sort of magic was in there. So he lifted his hand up and knocked. 

The door clicked open only a few moments later, Asahi’s bearded face peering out behind.

“Oh, Oikawa.” The gap widened. “Hello! I didn’t expect to see you here again.” 

Oikawa tilted his head to the side with a bright smile. “Hi, Asahi! Apologies for my rude introduction earlier, I know it wasn’t the best.” 

“Ah, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Asahi smiled, stepping back. “Come in. Is there a particular reason for this visit or…?” 

“I just thought your place was so pleasant, I had to come see it again,” Oikawa chattered back, drifting through the doorway. “How do you keep constant air flow through here? It’s marvellous, really.” 

Asahi laughed softly, one hand combing through his beard. “Yaku and Kenma take care of most of the practical issues, but I’m kind of proud to say that I designed those vents… see, there and up there?”

He pointed upwards, and Oikawa spotted openings, presumably to the ground level, hidden, but not covered by, leaves. 

“Clever positioning,” Oikawa said approvingly, trying to picture where they would be in relation to the landscape above. 

“Ah...thank you. But you didn’t come here to listen to me ramble on about water piping and air circulation, did you? Wander wherever you like.” Asahi gestured around, a tool in hand. 

“Thanks for the generous offer, I’ll take you up on it,” Oikawa chirped back, losing no time in circling down the paths, surveying the patches of plants. “Do you mind my asking which ones contain your history?” 

“All of them,” Asahi informed him. “It just depends on how far back you want to go. Farther back you go, the more recent the memories. We keep expanding as we go.” 

“Hm. I think I’ll start here then, if you don’t mind.” Oikawa backtracked to the bushes by the start of the path, Asahi out of view beyond the curve. The plants here in this section were clearly older, with deeper green stems, bolder colours, brazen against the dark soil underneath. 

Oikawa Breathed, and the nearest plant came to him, folding around his hand, immersing his skin in a cloudy substance. Oikawa blinked once, and just like that, he was no longer looking at plantlife. 

People ambled about. The atmosphere felt soft in a way it never had in reality, and Oikawa suspected it was a feeling from the one who had stored the memory in the first place. He tried to move and found that he couldn’t - he was limited to what they had observed, what they had experienced. As soon as he realised that, it made sense, and he felt foolish for even trying. 

The perspective shifted, and Oikawa’s stomach did too - it felt weird, being carried along in a body he had no control over. He couldn’t even look around on his own. 

Their sleeves were rolled up past their elbows, splashes of white displayed across dark skin as they handed a package to a villager. The people didn’t bow around them as Oikawa expected - in fact, they began to take notice and draw over to them, asking of news from other towns. 

A messenger? 

Children gathered around their legs, and Oikawa saw them place hands on their heads, ruffling hair with a reserved sort of care. Their line of sight panned around the scene, the centre of the village, and Oikawa picked out white splotches on people's legs, necks, arms, even faces. Was this an early camp of the Flightless? Hadn't Iwaizumi said Daichi set that up though, as a home for Sugawara? Oikawa recognised none of the people, and not everyone had visible white, and they were wearing clothes slightly off-kilter - a rope instead of a belt, shirts with no buttons, boots only laced up to the ankles, not the knees. How far in the past was he?

"Aha, I didn't think you'd survive long enough to come back here again," came a voice from his right, and the memory turned, the edges blurring. 

Oikawa refocused, and he felt the face that wasn't his grin widely, clapping hands with the newcomer with a gentle ease. 

"Really? You really thought that little of me? Next time you have bandits setting up nearby, don't come to me," his own pseudo-mouth answered. 

It was highly disorientating, feeling his tongue curl around words that his own mind hadn't thought. 

"I don't think little of you," they answered, but squared up to them, their own height more evident. "Just because you're little physically -"

They got a smack in the side for that, folding over and covering their ribs with their hands. "You pleeth."

Oikawa's ears perked up. Warrior language? So they had to be in Katachi somewhere, near to the South? It was unusual for such a large settlement to be anywhere near the Awero border, even if it was only a village, for the people to be so carefree with such a big threat nearby. 

They talked for a while longer - Oikawa couldn't pick up anything from stupid gossip about how hot the boss's daughter was - and then the memory turned, jogging towards the outskirts. 

As they moved, they continuously scanned the gaps between huts, the faces of people passing by, and Oikawa got the sense that they were looking for someone. Hurrying up the edges of the memory blurred, the section disorientating Oikawa until they slowed down. The memory approached someone leering over a child, a bit of bread in their hand, clutched as firmly as if it was their own soul. The scene was overshadowed by the extended roof of the hut, where the contrast struck the long cheekbones of the tall person even more, darkening the eyes of the child. Maybe it was because the memory was imperfect, or maybe because of the shade, but the faces were indiscriminate, hard to identify. 

The adult lifted their arm, readying to strike the child, who couldn't have been more than seven. Oikawa recognised the mark on the inside of their bare arm - it was the same sign both Iwaizumi and Daichi sported. 

"Hey," the memory said, stepping forwards rapidly to catch their arm. "What are you doing?"

The other cocked their head to the side, white burning deep in their eyes. "This kid was stealing. I'm just enforcing the rules -"

"We don't punish kids."

They tore their hand away, and the memory nodded down at the kid, whose face finally crumpled up completely, dashing back down into the rift between two houses. The memory turned back to the warrior, who was rubbing their wrist, a hurt expression pasted on their features. 

"D'ya really have to grab me that hard? I wasn't going to harm the kid."

"You were scaring them."

"What's wrong with that? My parents scolded me for stealing petty things when I was younger, and now I don't steal. It's easy to understand."

The memory sighed. "We're not their parents, and don't you think we have bigger things to deal with?"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess…"

Oikawa's head began spinning, and after a few hard blinks, he was back in Asahi's, the plant unfolding from around his hand. What was the point of that memory? He inhaled, and smelled the vague scent of a rainstorm. He was wondering if it was an aftereffect of the memory when Asahi rounded the corner. 

Asahi half-smiled at him, giant hands holding a steaming bowl, similar to the ones Matsukawa used for his plants and herbs. “Hello again. Be careful, sometimes if they’re hungry they’ll try to pull out memories from you. I’ve just fed them, so you should be okay for now.” 

“Sorry, what?” Oikawa spluttered out. 

Asahi chuckled, resting the bowl on his hip to gesture around. “There’s no need to worry. It takes a lot of gleaning for that to become a risk. I just thought I’d warn you, just in case.” 

"Isn't writing this all down a lot easier?" Oikawa asked him, rubbing his hand. It felt tingling, almost numbed. "And a lot less risky. I don't know about you, but I'm quite fond of keeping my memories in my head."

"Writings can be subjective," Asahi explained. "These memories, by and large, aren't. Well… less subjective. We're required to look at them every so often to remind ourselves of the past mistakes, and to outgrow them. These plants have the memories of the earliest Form members, when the system constructed around magickers began crumbling. Personally, I don't really like to look at them, but I do believe that they're important to keep in mind." 

"Ah. The Undoing."

Asahi nodded. "It reminds us not to give anyone absolute power. Noya was obsessed with those memories, thought they could give us clues on how to integrate both magickers and humans together again." 

"Again? I wasn't aware it ever worked," Oikawa recalled dryly, thinking of the history folded between the books the king had in his library.

"It did, for a brief moment in time. See for yourself, if you want." He nodded towards a nearby plant's red leaves, broad and cascading from a central point, as if a water spurt was frozen and transformed into leaves. "That one, I think, is the most hopeful one. It'll tell you things that the king's doctored books won't."

Still feeling untethered from the previous memory, Oikawa shook his head. "I think I'd prefer to stay in my own body, thank you."

“I’ll be around, if you need anything else.” 

With one last wave, Asahi drifted away. 

As he wove his way out of the room, the edge of a leaf brushed against Oikawa’s dangling sleeve. With a huff of annoyance, Oikawa tried to tug it away, and found that the corners were barbed, sinking in between the spaces of his threads. 

As he detangled himself, his eyes caught on a purple, flourishing flower, about the span of his hand, tube-like with petals curling around a cylindrical hollow. 

Could one more hurt? 

Oikawa placed his palm into the flower, feeling the liquid seep into the miniature chasms of his hand, the world around him lifting away. 

Iwaizumi, seemingly shorter than usual, blinked into existence. Out of the corner of his eye, Oikawa could see a doorframe, the familiar corridor of the Form stretching out behind Iwaizumi. He raised a hand, placing it on the memory’s chest, pushing him back into the room, his face lowered. They stepped backwards, and something hard hit the back of his knees. 

Iwaizumi’s face was younger, about what Oikawa would imagine him to be like in his early twenties. There was something softer about his edges, the way his eyes were wider, warmer, the subtle frown lines at the edges of his mouth erased. He was wearing a light beige shirt, stunning against his darker skin, and - 

Before Oikawa could take in any more details, Iwaizumi tilted his face upwards and kissed the memory, hard and passionate.

Oikawa's breath stumbled in his throat. The memory shifted line of sight, and he could feel himself sitting down on the edge of a mattress as they kissed, his palm grazing up the side of Iwaizumi's neck. Iwaizumi pushed up closer, one knee resting beside his hip, until a moment later slipped into the memory's lap, tender fingers running along its jawline.

Oikawa held his breath. He should leave, but Iwaizumi was kissing insistently, his lips urgent, needy almost, and Oikawa was weakening. Would he ever experience this? Was this how Iwaizumi kissed, or was it how this person remembered it? If he kissed Oikawa, would it feel the same? 

The weight of Iwaizumi wrapped around his waist, the tension of his thighs on his hips, the sensation of his lips closing over his… there was a heat flowing through Oikawa, and he prayed that it was just the memory he was reliving. 

He should withdraw. 

Pulling back, Iwaizumi smiled in a way Oikawa had never seen before, a sort of bashful, crooked grin, as he watched hands untie the buttons of Iwaizumi’s shirt, hands larger and darker toned than his own. Iwaizumi’s cheeks were flushed, his ears darkened as he glanced down at the memory’s hands, material slipping off his bare skin. It reminded Oikawa a bit of when Iwaizumi pushed himself too far in training, his breathing harsh and rapid. 

Oikawa’s chest tightened as Iwaizumi shrugged off the garment, his chest broad and solid, a fresh scar laced across his collarbones, one Oikawa recalled as faded, old. 

The hands he had no control over drifted down flat over Iwaizumi’s stomach, which felt as soft as Oikawa thought it would. As soon as the wide fingers reached his navel, Iwaizumi took one hand, kissing the fingers lovingly. The other fell to the waistband of his trousers, undoing the belt maddeningly slow and careful, the metal heated by Iwaizumi's body. 

“‘Toshi,” Iwaizumi murmured out, and Oikawa got an abrupt shock. 

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t his memory to recall. 

He yanked his hand out of the leaf, cheeks burning as Asahi’s place drifted back into reality around him. He - they just left memories like that lying around? How far did it go? 

Oikawa pressed his palm over his mouth, swallowing with what felt like lava down his throat. No, the heat had not been from the memory alone.

“I see you’ve found Ushijima’s memories.”

Oikawa started, spinning around to Asahi, who was standing nearby, a little knowing smile on his lips. 

“I - uh, yes.” He cleared his throat. “I think I stumbled across - I didn’t think people would store… everything.” 

“It’s up to the person,” Asahi said. “And Ushijima chose to store memories of Iwaizumi.”

“I thought these would be memories that benefitted the Form,” Oikawa said. “Not personal ones. Well, that personal…” 

Asahi lifted an eyebrow. “Ushijima told me that he stored memories of Iwaizumi, but not what sort of memories. We have a few plants assigned for private use.”

Oikawa felt heat flutter across his cheeks, and he opened his mouth. Asahi held up a hand, a flash of panic showing on his face as he backed up, eyes wide. 

“I’m not going to ask, and please don't tell me. I don’t want to know.” 

“That’s definitely for your benefit,” Oikawa murmured, drawing a hand down his face, feeling how hot it was. Fuck, it had been too long since he’d had sex. 

“He told me that he didn’t want his past relationship with Iwaizumi affecting his judgement,” Asahi told him. 

“How responsible of him,” Oikawa grumbled. “It would be even better if he put a warning sign next to his plants.” 

Asahi chuckled lightly. “I might advise him to do that.” 

Fearful of Asahi changing his mind and asking for more details, Oikawa quickly made an excuse to leave, citing a nap as his reason. Whether or not it was true, he'd find out once he returned to his room, and see if the heat coursing around his body faded away or not. Asahi waved him goodbye, wishing him luck on the raid that night. Oikawa exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand down his face, hoping the redness would ebb away before then, hoping that every time he looked at Iwaizumi the memory wouldn't replay in his head. 

As he strode down the corridor, he tried to shake it away, the way Iwaizumi's fingers felt along a jaw that wasn't his, the way his hands weren't as calloused, his lips less cracked. Oikawa's hands joined together and flexed against each other tightly. Whatever the reason, he preferred the present Iwaizumi - he seemed more...whole. Here. 

Swallowing, Oikawa pulled open his door, and again, attempted to shove out the flaring heat of Iwaizumi's darkened eyes, overshadowed by lust. He dropped back flat onto his bed, letting out a sigh. He couldn't get distracted by this. By now, Atsumu and Akaashi would be in the market sector, sowing the seeds of dissent, and then it would be their turn. 

He had to be prepared, not memorising the placement of Iwaizumi's mole just below his right earlobe that he'd never noticed before-

"Ughhhhhh!" 

Oikawa pressed both palms hard to his still-hot face. 

Fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know I can't write atsumu's character for shit i am sorry I'm trying my best  
> please note that I do not dislike ANY hq character, and the sides/organisations that they're part of doesn't reflect my personal feelings on them, ie. I won't make one evil just because i don't like them  
> I hope that is obvious, but I just felt like I had to state that!  
> I would not have any of them on "questionable" sides but making up original characters takes too many brain cells for me :)  
> Thank you to everyone who commented, you are all so kind to let me know you're here!!


	11. Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get Tobio back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ SHAERAART](https://twitter.com/ShaeraArt?s=20) MADE WONDERFUL ART OF OIKAWA PLEASE SUPPORT THEM [ HERE](https://twitter.com/ShaeraArt/status/1275093484676972544?s=20)  
> Thank you so much!!

Oikawa gathered himself in one long, slow exhale. 

It was simple - distract, divert, infiltrate and extract. They couldn't do much more, with their numbers. Silent and precise - Oikawa's speciality. Get in, avoid as many guards as possible, grab the heir and get out. And pray they take away her bargaining tool, her claim to the throne, the power over the kingdom. The people still respected Torem's lineage, and thanks to Oikawa, the Westland Lords were forced to.

They were to filter out in pairs to search - a warrior and a sensor, Daichi and Kenma, Ushijima and Oikawa, Iwaizumi and Ennoshita. Oikawa couldn't say he was too happy with the match-up, but he was sure that Ushijima would protect him. Kenma ghosted alongside him, gaze never settling anywhere, seemingly going beyond where Oikawa was every time he looked at him. 

"Kenma, where do you think the heir is?" Iwaizumi asked in a low voice, and Oikawa's gaze drifted across to the small man, his slender face upwards and alert. 

"There's more movement around the guard quarters than anywhere else," he said, and Oikawa frowned, flaring up his senses as he gazed towards the walled area. Even with his expanded hearing, he could only hear the faint clicking of metal heels on pavement, impossible to track down to a precise direction or location. 

Ennoshita lowered themself to the base of the outer wall, pressing their shoulder against it. They glanced up at Oikawa. "Here?"

"There," Oikawa confirmed, and he watched as they rolled back their sleeve, producing a knife and slashing quickly across their wrist. Their skin parted like a mouth opening. 

Oikawa leaned forwards, his mouth already opening to Breathe, but he felt Iwaizumi's hand on his arm, holding him back.

"It's alright," Iwaizumi whispered to him. "Just watch."

Ennoshita held their hand under the spurting blood, and it grew rigid, hard, in their palm. A thin blade was formed from their wrist, as if it was hidden underneath their skin all along. It was similar to a shifter, if they made metal from their own flesh. As soon as it was long enough, they cocked their wrist back up, and the flow of blood stopped, the skin sealing over. 

They jammed it into the crack they'd indicated to, pushing hard. Daichi joined them, pressing his shoulder to it and grating the stone cap out of place, revealing a black gap in the wall.

"Couldn't we have just used a stick?" Daichi asked lowly, and Iwaizumi shook his head. "We don't want any trace of us being here. If she didn't know about the passageways, we don't want to alert her to them. I mean, even we didn't know of this one until Oikawa told us." 

His eyes met Oikawa's, just for an instant, in silent thanks. This was the one Oikawa had used to escape the uprising, one that emerged near his study. The one most centered to the middle of the castle's structure - the one bypassing the most walls, the most fortifications, and hopefully, the most guards. They were banking on their attention being drawn away from the main castle in order to quell the riot.

"Once Akaashi and Atsumu cause a disruption in the market, and we see Aecus coming out to squash it, we move in as arranged. Split up into twos and find the heir, then contact the rest as soon as you do. Is everyone clear?" Iwaizumi asked, and everyone nodded. 

The passageways were as cold as Oikawa remembered. He folded his cloak over his arms, tucking his hands up into his armpits as they moved underground. Soil petered down and gathered in the corners, next to the wooden beams, and Oikawa feared that their footsteps may dislodge more. Ushijima's footfalls were heavy next to him, and Oikawa almost flinched with each thud, but he couldn't afford to let down his senses. Even if it meant feeling every thread on his cloak grate through his shirt, next to his skin, hearing Daichi's low prayers under his breath, the soft clicking of Kenma's puzzle, the slow peel of Ennoshita biting at the sides of their thumb. The air was stuffed with nervousness, but also a sort of purpose, the sensation of cold steel sliding along Oikawa's arms. 

He glanced around. As expected, the aura was mostly emanating from Ushijima, but there was a little dangerous tinge gliding from Iwaizumi too. Seeing his nervous shift, Daichi gave him a little wave, tilting his eyes up into an empathetic smile. Oikawa smiled thinly back. 

Iwaizumi stopped by the exit, catching Kenma's eyes. "What do you know?"

Oikawa upped his senses a little, and grimaced at the curl of sweat that hit him, along with the gross ticking and creaking of insects in the structure, but he could hear footsteps, hard and urgent, battering down on the floor in front of them. His clothes scratched grooves into his skin, and he braced himself against the oversensitivity.

Iwaizumi smelled of lilies, but Oikawa shoved that scent away. 

"They're leaving," Kenma replied, and Iwaizumi wedged his shoulder behind the rectangular panel covering the exit, but not exerting pressure just yet. 

He watched Kenma, waiting. Oikawa heard the footsteps continue on, and found himself biting the side of his cheek, wondering exactly how many troops she'd brought down from the North since the revolution. Had they convinced the king's guard over to their side too or slaughtered them? It seemed a waste of troops if so, but Torem, despite his faults, had inspired loyalty. Oikawa alone was testament to that. 

The noise ebbed, and Kenma nodded to Iwaizumi, who easily slid the panel across, letting in yellow lamplight. He leaned out of the gap, checking before opening it completely and clambering through, the other members following his example. 

There were two guards sauntering down the corridor, their backs to them, chatting in low voices.

Ushijima and Iwaizumi glanced at each other and began approaching, creeping up behind them. They moved at the same tempo, the same fluidity flowing through them as they slammed a hand over the guards' mouths, their other arm winding around the guards' necks. The guards' bodies spasmed, jerking back and forth, hands reaching over, scrabbling at Iwaizumi's face. The other tried to back up, slam Ushijima back against the wall, but there was no moving Ushijima's bulk. Oikawa felt sorry for them - maybe against anyone less imposing, their training would've held up, but as it stood, they went limp, and Ushijima and Iwaizumi lowered their bodies to the floor. 

Kenma, crouching by the entrance, cast his gaze along the walls, and Oikawa followed along with him, wondering what was the extent of what he could see. 

"Kenma," Iwaizumi hissed out, glancing back. "Any sign of other patrols?"

Kenma shook his head. "Not here."

"Where's the nearest servant entrance?"

"Mm… king's room. It branches off into the walls after that."

Oikawa saw Iwaizumi's eyes widen. "There was an entrance right in his room? That wasn't on the map." 

"By his bedside."

"HEY! THEY'RE HERE! THEY'RE -"

Spinning back around, Iwaizumi's blade flashed, driving down through the guard's collarbones, in the gap between his chestplate and helmet. His voice was reduced to a weak gargle. 

Oikawa almost gagged, and he was forced to push his Breath back down to avoid throwing up. He felt a squeeze on his arm, and he looked over at Daichi, who gave him a soft nod. Swallowing hard, Oikawa looked away. 

"Fuck," Iwaizumi muttered, jerking back his sword.

There was a silence where everyone tensed, waiting to hear an answering shout, or the clinking of armour. Kenma didn't blink, the aurous circles catching light, rebounding it within his irises. 

"I thought you knew how to knock someone out properly," Ushijima said, and Iwaizumi's jaw flexed. "It doesn't matter now. Start moving. You all know where to go."

"I don't think there was anyone close enough to hear," Kenma said. 

"You think or you know?" Daichi asked, and Kenma's eyes darted away. "Think."

With a restrained sigh, Daichi handed some cord over to Ushijima, who started securing the unconscious guard, eyelids beginning to flutter. The fact that he was waking up didn't seem to daunt Ushijima, who calmly wrapped another arm around his throat until his facial muscles stopped twitching. He glanced up at Iwaizumi. 

"That's how you do it properly."

"Come on." Iwaizumi shoved at his shoulder. "We don't have time for this."

Torem hadn't been a vain king - there were little portraits of him to tear down. After all, he had named his child after the people's common language, instead of the deities' one - Tobio, and taking the Katachian surname of his wife, Kageyama. He had been a straightforward, just ruler, and Oikawa regretted his death. Just, apart from when it came to magickers. 

However, everything else - every trace of Torem and his rule, had been cleared off the walls, burn marks like stretched-out ovals blackening the stone walls, banners slashed beyond recognition, artwork by the queen thrown and broken in corner piles. For the first time, Oikawa sensed a hatred behind those actions, a disgust at everything this castle stood for, and he wasn't surprised that they'd made their home in the guardhouse. The streams of blood long dried down the walls showed their loathing - Oikawa was grateful, at least, that they'd moved the bodies of the people they'd killed from the original raid. 

They shifted down the corridor, towards the king's room. Opposite direction to his study. 

Hanging back for a moment, Oikawa grasped Ushijima's wide arm. "You can handle this alone, right?"

Puzzlement crossed Ushijima's face, but he held his question back. "That wasn't the plan, but yes, I can. Where are you going?"

Oikawa's gaze flowed past him, to Iwaizumi's back. Kenma cast a lazy glance over his shoulder, lingering on Oikawa with a blank expression for just a trok too long, but said nothing. 

"I'm going to go to my study," Oikawa informed him, and Ushijima nodded. "You remember where we have to meet?"

"Yes."

"May the Lady bless you." 

Oikawa felt a distaste in his mouth as he nodded away the word. Deities weren't worth worshipping. He was his own god. He backed up, striding towards his study, ears pricked up, alert. He wanted to get out of this stinking corridor. 

Oikawa felt a tug on his cloak, and he glanced down to see one of the guards recoiling against the softened floor, his other hand clenched around the wound in his neck, spilling crimson waves over his fingers. He was still alive from Iwaizumi's attack, barely. Oikawa clapped a hand over his nose, smelling acid as the life bled away. 

"Help. Please. You're him, aren't you? The -" A cough, garbled and fragile. "You're Oikawa Tooru."

His eyes were the colour of fear. "Please."

Oikawa's feet stuck, as if the blood on the ends were pulling him down, little claws gripping and tearing at the leather. He remembered Yahaba kneeling by the dog, trying to help despite his level of skill, despite the consequences, recalled his words.

_What’s the point of being able to Breathe if I can’t help people?_

Oikawa felt something in him bend, and he knelt down, letting the footsteps of the others dim away. 

" _Paenetit_ ," Oikawa whispered out, cradling the man by the back of his neck. He couldn’t have been over eighteen, frightened expression driving the tragedy of his youth through Oikawa's skin. 

His Breath flowed out of his chest, down into the crumpled man in front of him. Slowing his heartbeat, he resisted the fist around his lungs. It seemed more powerful than usual, and Oikawa looked away, feeling the man judder beside him. It always brought guilt, how his Breath hurt while healing. He focused on how the man's blood soaked into the carpet, staining it even darker, creeping out and overtaking the pattern. 

Maybe he was too late. Maybe both of them would die here because of his bad judgement.

Oikawa felt himself growing dizzy, his surroundings coming to him in fuzzy patches. Shit, shit, shit. He dropped an arm to the floor to support himself, praying for his Breath to return soon. Matsukawa knew him - he knew how Oikawa would push himself, and he wouldn't warn him for nothing. Despite himself, Oikawa felt panic crawling up his throat like swampland, tangling dirt into his empty lungs. Yahaba's voice echoed in his head, the undercurrent of panic swirling around.

_I can't heal him. It's not working. Why isn’t it working?_

Oikawa's Breath felt like sugar on his lips, sweet and fresh, as it returned, and Oikawa gasped, as if he had been drowning. 

The soldier scrambled to his feet, grabbing Oikawa's shoulder. "Thank you, thank you."

Oikawa only nodded, feeling his breathing grow shallow. The soldier dashed down the corridor, light metal armour jingling, and Oikawa prayed he wasn't about to go kill one of the Form or raise the alarm. He stayed there a moment, afraid of what would happen if he tried to stand, afraid to sense what could be happening inside him. 

Stop. He'd be fine. Oikawa repeated it over and over as he knelt forwards, swaying a little, the lightness in his head not subsiding, no matter how quickly he gulped in air. Palms flattened to the ground, he pushed himself to his feet, and a wave of weakness rippled through him, and he had to steady himself against the wall. He had to get to his study. If he got there… Oikawa didn't know, but he wasn't collapsing in some stripped hallway. He wished that the stupid gods would give him the mercy of dying somewhere familiar, at the very least. 

Oikawa stumbled the last few steps down the corridor, unlatching the door of his study, one hand clutching at his torso. He could feel his broken organs emptying blood as he unsteadily made his way inside, leaving the door ajar. Despite the chaos and hatred Aecus had unleashed on the rest of the castle's interior, his study had remained pure, unaffected. 

Oikawa felt a smile flutter across his lips as he took in his home for six years, the desk underneath the domed window, pages of writings that would never be finished, handwritten accounts of magickers neatly laid out, little straight blades resting in the drawers beneath. Bookshelves coated the two walls on either side, emptier than before he left, pages sticking out. All of his gathered information, all of his analysis on the neighbouring lands, their lords, their intentions, his memoirs from his time in the North, all directed to keep this country safe from crumbling back into the wasteland it always had been. 

He moved to the window, leaning hard on his desk, gazing down at one of the six courtyards, the one dedicated to warrior training. He thought of how often he'd seen Iwaizumi instruct his juniors here, how he had always noticed his absence when he was sent away on a mission. 

Blood welled up in his throat, pressure constricting his airflow, and he bent over, coughing in an attempt to clear it. White drops splattered onto the embroidered rug, and Oikawa sunk to the floor, his body shaking. 

" _Ikol,"_ he whispered to himself, fist knotted in his shirt. It was worse when he couldn't see any wound, his shirt only littered with little splatters of white. 

He gazed around him, at all the tomes he'd left behind, and wondered why he wasn't crying. 

He'd taken such great lengths to protect his life, to preserve it, and now all of that effort, all of those lives perished, were for nothing. Oikawa had thought he'd feel sad about that. But now, watching how the edges of his vision glazed and unfocused, feeling his lungs bleed full, he just felt tired. 

He wished he'd kissed Iwaizumi. If he'd known he was going to die anyways, there would've been no consequences, no following through. What a great life to lead, where you can do what you want without any effect. Oikawa sighed, his eyes ghosting to the doorway, as if Iwaizumi was going to walk through on his will, with tough words and soft lips. With a harsh inhale, Oikawa leaned back against the table leg, the engravings cutting into his spine, and closed his eyes. He flared up his senses one last time. 

He could smell the faint tingling of iron in the air, likely leaking from the guard's throat, muted footsteps padding several floors below, and.. fast, clipped ones outside the door?

Oikawa's eyes shot open, and he put one hand down on the floor, struggling to push himself to his feet. He knew that power well by now. But his arm quivered, and his legs buckled, slumping him back into the same position as before. 

The stranger swung the door open, fixating on Oikawa. As always, she almost swept the floor as she walked, her large cloak swallowing her body, only ending right above the ankles. What Oikawa saw of the clothing underneath was only a mixture of drab greys and browns. 

"Oh, hello. I thought you might return for your books."

She spoke casually, and Oikawa managed a grimace, avoiding her gaze. "How asute of you."

"Actually…" she walked over to the shelf above his head, selecting one thin tome with a silvery spine and slipping her fingers down the pages. "I was wondering if we could talk first. You were a diplomat, correct? It would do you well to hear me out."

Oikawa's anger surged, his hands strangling the hem of his shirt. He didn’t want her hands on his books. 

“You tried to kill me," he told her, struggling to keep the rage out of his voice. "So I think you'll forgive me if I choose to ignore you." 

Oikawa could feel his breath was becoming quicker, shallower, with every word. 

“The first time, admittedly, yes. I thought you’d be better out of my way. As for the second time… do you really think I had the precision to pierce your partner’s heart and not yours? Or your skull? I struck just under your floating rib - no vital organs harmed. I don't want to kill my own kind. We're rare enough as it is."

“Then please tell me, why am I bleeding out right now, if not for your kind contribution?”

Oikawa coughed, and she glanced downwards, snapping the book shut and laying it on his - his! - desk.

"Hm, that's probably your own fault." Kneeling down beside him, she took his chin in her fingers. Up close, her golden eyes looked more like polished sandstone. "Open your mouth."

Oikawa remembered when he gave the same instruction to Iwaizumi in the cave, during a snowstorm that seemed so distant, so engrained in the past. He recalled Iwaizumi's resistance, his unwillingness to cooperate with something he didn't understand or know. He understood how Iwaizumi felt. 

Oikawa opened his mouth.

" _Spiritum bonum_ ," she said, and her Breath left her, spinning across Oikawa's lips with the touch of fairy wind. 

Oikawa braced himself for pain, but none came. Instead, it was like a Northern wind breezing through him - it made him shiver, his skin breaking out in mountains of goosebumps, but it was fluid, smooth, sure. It couldn't have felt more unlike Yahaba’s clunky Breath, flowing like fine, icy silk down his throat. 

It was over in two heartbeats, Oikawa managing to stifle his gasp of relief as her Breath left him, his lungs empty and free again. 

“It… didn't hurt,” he said, unable to keep a little amazement out of his voice.

“Because I'm at ease with myself. Yours will be gentler when you learn to come to terms with your past, present and future."

She smiled as Oikawa rose to his feet, marvelling at the sudden erasure of any pain. He'd never encountered a Breather more skilled than he was, and definitely not while needing healing himself. Touching his neck, he realised that the scar left by Yahaba's bad job had smoothed over too - it wasn't gone, never would be, but the skin didn't stretch uncomfortably any more when he was turning his head. 

“Well,” he said, rubbing at the dots on his shirt - thankful that his white blood melded into his white shirt - and hiking up his pants. “Now, I’ll just be taking what’s mine and leaving. You don't mind, do you?"

He smiled at her. She didn't respond, only sitting back on his desk, watching him with folded arms.

Oikawa knew he should be fighting her. His nerves skittered underneath his skin like long grass in a tornado, but he kept them under control. If she was here to kill him, she would’ve let him bleed out. He was smarter than Iwaizumi. He wasn't going to pick a fight where there was none. And even if he did manage to kill her, he doubted Aecus would be without a chain of command. She had spoken the truth before - there were others ready to take her place. 

“You don’t care about the heir, do you?”

Oikawa paused. He moved towards his shelves, running a finger along the spines. “Of course I do. He’s the dear heir of our kingdom, the one who’ll rule justly.” 

He pulled down a book, notching it into the crook of his arm. 

“Shouldn’t you be asking me where he is?” 

There was an edge of amusement to her tone. Sighing, Oikawa turned around to face her, fingers drawing over the cover of his notebook. He had missed them. 

“I’ll get to that later. I have priorities, after all. And it's not as if you're just going to tell me, either." 

He made his voice upbeat, chipper almost. She tilted her head to the side, evaluating him. 

"You're right."

Oikawa felt his jaw tense and tried to fight off the feeling of being dissected, as if some of her oil had wormed its way inside his veins, mixing with his white blood. 

"Do you have time to learn how to make your Breath not hurt?"

"I'll learn that on my own," Oikawa told her. "I've always done that before."

"Think about what you could learn with another Breather," she pushed, folding her hands on her lap. "We've barely dipped below the surface of what Breathing can do - the surface of an ocean. I know you don't understand yet Evigilo, but you can. You will, if you join me."

Her voice was shattered glass drawing under his skin. Oikawa had to suppress a shiver. 

"How do you know my taken name?" 

"You record everything meticulously, don't you? Always analysing, always thinking about how you can control situations, people, magickers. They make for fascinating reads."

"I'm glad you enjoyed violating my privacy," Oikawa said coolly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to reclaim what's mine and leave."

"Without even hearing out my proposal? I saved your life. Shouldn't that count for something?"

"Your choice, not mine," Oikawa dismissed her, rotating back to the bookshelves. "I'm not responsible for the consequences of your actions. You should've thought that through before healing me - I'm quite the consequence, after all."

“You do think of yourself that way, don't you?” 

"I'm a delightful consequence," Oikawa told her, the corners of his mouth tightening. 

"Does the Form see you that way?"

Oikawa inhaled. "It doesn't matter. Stop talking to me. Or reveal your secret plan, or something useful at least. Even trying to kill me would be more entertaining than this. If you don't want to do any of those options, go away."

She chuckled. "I can see why Torem chose you as his diplomat."

"I don't see you leaving," Oikawa said, aware of his back turned to her, but refusing to turn around. If he did, he would show his wariness. He couldn't give her the upper hand. 

“Think of the ordinary people," she urged him, and Oikawa sighed deeply. "I told you-"

"Think of their attitude towards people like us. How many times has the Osole tried to kill you? Thrice?” 

Oikawa’s fingers clenched around the spine of “The Treaty Systems of the Westlands.” It was three times. Oikawa has been well known even before joining Torem’s counsel - the only place Osole wouldn’t dare to attack. Oikawa gave her a flat glare over his shoulder and began stacking up his books. "You aren't going to shut up, are you?"

“I want to improve things, that’s all. Not just for us, but for the ordinary villagers too, so people don’t have to be scared of their child having white. We can learn to understand each other. Torem was a good king to the ordinary people, but not to us. We need to equalise things on our own. Nobody else will fight for us.” 

Oikawa pressed two fingers against his forehead. "There are so many fucking organisations already. If you tell me that you're starting another one I will jump out of this tower right now."

"This one's different."

"Oh, is it?" Oikawa drawled out. "Tell me, how exactly is it different? Do I get a free sword if I join? Maybe an affectionate pat on the head? Genuine human connection for once?"

"No, but you get to hold onto what you treasure," She pointed out, glancing at his notes pressed close to his chest. "I didn't let them touch it because I know how valuable it is. All of this knowledge, all stored safely for centuries, built upon, taught, never lost. The Form offers order, and nothing more. Any progress is stamped out in the name of maintaining the system of the kingdom. The Lady had good intentions, but her method doesn’t work. She was the one who introduced white to humans and separated us in the first place. We were liberated from the deities’ rule, but at far too high a cost.” 

Oikawa's jaw tightened, and he spun around, shaking out his bag and dumping a pile of books into it. She raised her eyebrows. 

"No defence for the system?"

"It works," was his answer. "Sometimes."

"It worked for you, didn't it?" She gestured around at the scale of the study. "A prime position next to the king, a library of your own to delve through any topic you wish in your free time."

Leaning back against his books, he eyed her, gaze darting down to her ankles for a trok, but they were completely covered by her cloak. No trace of the weird blackness he'd glimpsed before. "And what can you offer?"

One of her mouth's edges lifted. “A better country.” 

“That’s way too vague," Oikawa said sharply. "How exactly are you going to achieve that?"

“I can give you specifics if you hear me out. It's already in motion, and it will happen with or without you. I'm offering you a chance to be part of it. At least listen to me before you choose sides."

Oikawa’s jaw clenched, and he thumped the bag of books down on the floor. “Fine. Provided you allow me to take what I want, and leave here untouched."

“Excluding the heir.” 

Oikawa exhaled. She would be insane to harm him. He was the last connection to the throne, the system established by Torem's ancestors, the one respected by the ordinary people and surrounding countries. Killing him would sever all diplomatic ties, make her an enemy to the North, the Westlands, and Katachi's own people. “Okay. But there's one more thing before we start. Did you kill that mercenary group?” 

"Yes. They didn't do their job." Her sentences, her logic, short and harsh. "You know why I needed the heir, and I couldn't afford another group mishandling it. So I took the time to take him myself."

Oikawa allowed those words to sink in, recalling the utter suffocation of rusted iron in his lungs, as if his own blood was rotting inside him. 

"The Westland lords don't recognise anyone not affiliated with the bloodline," Oikawa said. "Even if you did take over by force." He felt a self-satisfied smirk coming along. "I'm glad to see they still respect the treaty I put in place."

"They're...very selective about what they choose to obey," she told him, mouth twisting up. "They use it as an excuse to escape negotiations with me, but you know as well as I do that they won't hesitate to invade."

Oikawa thought of the meetings he’d had with the lords, the frustration rushing back. Gods, Futakuchi was the fucking _worst._

"Okay," he announced, spreading his hands. "Let's talk then, shall we? But it’s impolite to start negotiations without introductions. I’m Oikawa Tooru, the best person you’ll ever meet.” 

“Good to meet you, Oikawa Tooru. I’m Kae.” 

Iwaizumi was breathing rougher than he should've been. 

But fuck, stealth missions were not his goddamn thing. For now though, they had to be. He glanced across to Ennoshita, who motioned for him to move forwards. He'd deliberately not paired himself up with Oikawa. He knew that his attachment to him would get in the way of deciding what was best for the kingdom, and he also knew that Ushijima would protect him to the best of his ability, which was greater than Iwaizumi's. Oikawa could hold his own, too. Iwaizumi tried to keep that in mind as they pressed forwards, searching every room, forcing the concerns about Oikawa's wellbeing to the back of his mind. He had a job to do, dammit. His worries about the others had to go, had to trust in their skill. 

Him and Ennoshita skirted down the servant corridors, Iwaizumi's hunting instincts, his honed ears, allowing them to slip into empty rooms, sneaking a look into each one before moving on. Ennoshita, their step lighter than his, led the way. For ease of access, the servants' doors were mostly left unlocked, so they could dive in and out rapidly. 

Ennoshita tried the next door handle, then frowned, applying a bit more pressure and wriggling it as quietly as they could. No movement. 

"The door's been blocked to this room," Ennoshita told Iwaizumi, their voice humming too loud in the confined space. 

"That's suspicious."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

Pressing their ear to the door, Ennoshita closed their eyes, listening. “I don’t hear anything. The door could be just jammed.”

“We can’t afford to miss a room," Iwaizumi said, and Ennoshita dipped their head in agreement. 

Backtracking, they made their way to the nearest exit, and slipped out into the main corridor connecting all of the rooms.

There were two guards stationed outside the inaccessible room. Iwaizumi hissed out a breath, steeling himself. It didn't look like they were going anywhere, but he had to admit it was a good sign. Only a moron would leave the heir unguarded, and if he wasn't in there, it was something else worth guarding. 

Ennoshita's grey eyes met his in a silent query, and Iwaizumi nodded, his expression feeling like stone. Silently, Ennoshita bled out a weapon, and Iwaizumi drew his sword. 

"Hold on," Ennoshita whispered, eying to the right of the guards. "I think one of the servant passageways stretch near there. I'll go and make a bit of noise, draw them out - or at the very least, distract them."

Iwaizumi nodded his approval, and Ennoshita slipped back into the corridor behind. A few troks later, Iwaizumi heard a scuffling come close to the guard, who leaned around the corner, the other taking the opportunity to scratch his ass. They exchanged a quick word, one giving the other a lethargic nod, leaning back against the doorframe.

This time, Iwaizumi made sure to squeeze on either side of the guard's soft neck properly, and he was out within troks. He heard a muffled thump and muted struggling from around the corner, and prayed it was Ennoshita who had the upper hand. He secured the guard hastily, stuffing the gag in extra tight, as if that would make up for his earlier fuckup.

After dispatching the guard, Iwaizumi rested his hand on the knob, listening for any movement within the room. Nothing. He tried the handle. Locked, of course. Crouching down, he searched the guard's belt - nothing. 

He heard a scraping against the floor, and glanced up to see Ennoshita dragging the other unconscious guard towards him, already tied and gagged. 

"Is there a key to the door on him?" Iwaizumi asked, making sure to keep his voice soft. 

Ennoshita performed a quick search of the guard, then shook their head. 

"Fuck," Iwaizumi cursed. 

Even the guards weren't trusted with the key. But there were other ways to get into a locked room. He prayed that the heir was in here - if not, they just lost a lot of time and exposure for nothing. 

As Iwaizumi kept an eye out, Ennoshita produced a small knife, this time cutting the back of their wrist. They held their wrist against the space between the door and the doorframe, allowing it to bleed down over the lock. Then, they solidified it, leaving a bar at the top to help leaver it off. They put pressure on the end, their whole shoulders hunching over as they stood on their toes to apply more force, and after a few troks, there was a loud snap. The door cracked open, the lock and Ennoshita's blood clattering to the floor shortly after. 

Their cheeks seemed paler than usual, and Iwaizumi felt guilty, making them use their power when he could've just Fractured the door… maybe. It wouldn't have hurt to try, even if his white acted unpredictably. But he couldn't allow Ennoshita to be put in a position, forced to choose between following their code and being loyal to a friend. 

Iwaizumi shouldered the door wider. 

There were another two guards in the room slumped on chairs - in between them, a cot. Iwaizumi dived forwards, unsheathing his sword in the same motion as he lunged towards the nearest one, swinging his blade upwards, praying to occupy them so much that they couldn't catch their breath to cry out for help. He saw Ennoshita flash forwards out of the corner of his eye, engaging the other guard with a swipe of their dagger. The clash of steel against Yaku's sword blasted through the room, and Iwaizumi pressed forwards, needing to end this quickly. Dodging a clumsy overhand slash, Iwaizumi came up beside them, grabbing at their helmet and slamming his palm into it, slipping his sword into the opening made by the movement. Nothing more was heard but choked cries as the guard slid to the floor, blood pouring down their shoulder and trickling down their body armour. 

Casting his eyes across the room, Iwaizumi saw Ennoshita drive one of their daggers into the armpit gap of the other guard, who screamed, flailing and attempting to reach over, to pull it out. Ennoshita twisted the dagger, and then the guard simply… collapsed. 

Frowning, Ennoshita leaned down and tugged out their dagger, nudging them with their toe. "I think they passed out from pain."

"Good enough for me," Iwaizumi affirmed. "As long as they stay out long enough for us to get out."

"I'll bind them."

Wiping his sword off on the seat of some fancy chair, Iwaizumi sheathed it, walking over to the guarded cot. He thought that it might've been a decoy, but all he saw was Tobio, his face creased, the commotion obviously waking him from his slumber. 

"Tobio," Iwaizumi breathed out, gathering the child up in his arms. Tobio shifted and stirred, but didn't cry out, and Iwaizumi felt relief inflate his chest. 

He turned back to Ennoshita, gently rocking him. "Let's get out of here."

They ghosted up to Iwaizumi, gazing down at Tobio. "That's him, huh? All of this trouble for something so small." 

It took Iwaizumi a moment. Ennoshita had never seen the heir before, never met the king, and yet had dedicated their life to protecting Tobio - and by extension, the order in Katachi. 

"Do you want to take him?" Iwaizumi asked them, and they blinked, the sleepy appearance of their eyes altering. "I… yes. I think I'd like that. You can fight better than I can, too.” 

They took Tobio cautiously, almost reverently, swaddled up in blankets, and pressed him against their chest. "Let's go." 

Iwaizumi reached over to his opposite arm, feeling his mark throb with power as he relayed the developments to the others. Daichi was nearby, as was Ushijima, and he felt relief swoosh through him. No alarm had been raised as of yet, the distraction in the merchant circle hopefully working. He contacted Akaashi. 

_Everything is going well. The bulk of their guards appears to be here - they called for more than the regional ones, so they have to have drawn from the castle._

Iwaizumi nodded. Good. Now even if they were found by two guards, chances were that they could escape before enough returned to overwhelm them. 

They looped back to the nearest exit using the same corridors, Tobio thankfully staying quiet the entire way. As soon as they emerged from the passageways and rejoined the others, however, Iwaizumi immediately noticed something. 

He scanned across the others a second time, just in case by some bizarre chance he’d missed a six foot tall man. 

“You have the right kid?” Kenma asked Ennoshita, and they nodded, Tobio almost asleep from their gait. "Iwaizumi-san confirmed it."

As the other four began skirting towards the agreed exit, Iwaizumi reached out and tapped Ushijima's shoulder. "Have you seen Oikawa?"

"Not since we split up," Ushijima replied. "He told me that he was heading towards his study. I don't know whether he's still there."

Iwaizumi left out a hiss of frustration, slowing down. "You guys go on ahead. Get out, and I'll meet you back at the Form." 

"It's unlikely that you will be able to escape after the guards have time to get back and into formation," Ushijima stated, and Daichi grasped Ushijima's arm. 

"It's alright. He knows."

“Won’t he be okay?” Ennoshita asked. “He knew where we were supposed to be, and we’re here. If he’s not...” 

“I’m not leaving anyone behind,” Iwaizumi answered, this time halting completely. “He’s also getting information that could help us beat her. I’ll see you guys outside.” 

"Good luck." Daichi hit Iwaiziumi's shoulder. "You fought your way out before, you can do it again." 

Iwaizumi hoped so. 

As he bolted down the corridor, it crossed his mind that Oikawa might've left already, without telling them. Iwaizumi gritted his jaw. Oikawa wouldn't do that, would he? He passed where they had taken down the first two guards, and saw none. His heart stopped. Had someone come by and taken the corpse of the dead one? Found the guard bound in the adjacent room? Searched nearby and stumbled upon Oikawa? He knew Oikawa could handle himself, but against numbers… 

He tore the door open. 

"Oikawa!"

Startled, Oikawa's head shot up, and he rose from the seat by the window. He was alright. Iwaizumi felt like a brick had dissolved from his ribcage. Oikawa blinked, confusion passing over his face. "I thought… I thought you had left already. The plan was -"

"To hell with the plan," Iwaizumi rushed out, crossing the floor and gripping his arm. "We have to get out of here before they regroup. I don't know what she'd do to us if we were captured, but I don't want to find out."

Oikawa was still blinking at him, slow and measured, as if he couldn't believe Iwaizumi was here. "You came back just for me?"

"What? I'm here, aren't I?" Iwaizumi tugged on Oikawa's arm. Of course he had, but they didn't have time for this. His gaze caught on a bag of books and he swung it up over his shoulder, guessing it was the information Oikawa had mentioned before. When he glanced back, Oikawa's face was still muddled. 

"Oikawa," Iwaizumi said, and he reached up, gripping his shoulder. "We need to go."

"I- yeah, sure," Oikawa stumbled over his words, and Iwaizumi frowned. That was the first time he'd heard Oikawa struggle with his speech. 

"Are you alright?" Iwaizumi asked, running his free hand down Oikawa's arm, examining his body closer. "Did something happen?"

"No," Oikawa said, brushing past him, the urgency returning to his eyes. "She found me, but nothing happened. We just talked." 

"You just talked? You didn't fight her?"

"I would die if we fought one-on-one," Oikawa answered, looking out the doorway, listening. "I'm not stupid, Iwa-chan. I refuse to throw away my life to inconvenience somebody for a few troks. And... she didn't seem interested in fighting me, either." 

Iwaizumi felt suspicion rise in him, but he didn't have time to pursue it now. "Did she ask why you were here?"

"She didn't seem surprised."

Uneasiness swelled within Iwaizumi. Hadn't everything gone a little too smoothly? They had only encountered two patrols - partly due to using the servant's corridors - and both had gone down easily, too easily for Aecus trained guards. He cast his mind back to the guards - had they the prominent Northern features? Underneath the helmet, he couldn't tell. 

"It's clear. Come on," Oikawa said, and Iwaizumi tried to push his thoughts back, focus on the present. He could mull over that later. 

As they picked their way back, Oikawa was too quiet. Iwaizumi kept searching for something to say, or ask, but all he could come up with was worry. Oikawa was engrossed into his own head, sunken into thoughts Iwaizumi couldn't begin to guess at, but he was fairly sure it was something she said to him. His frustration grew. 

"What did you talk about?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing much." Oikawa waved out a hand to the side. "Just about the weather, the state of the economy, how good I look in white, the usual."

"Stop bullshitting me."

"I'm not, I swear."

Iwaizumi reached out and seized Oikawa's arm, forcing him to stop. Oikawa's face, full of disdain, skipped over him, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me? What makes you think you can touch me?"

He shook off Iwaizumi's hand, and Iwaizumi felt even more confusion bleed through him. "What? What did she say to you?"

Turning his back again, Oikawa began walking away. "Nothing worth telling you about, trust me."

"You're off, something must've happened," Iwaizumi insisted, not knowing how he knew but he knew, after weeks of travelling together, knew that something was prying at Oikawa. 

"Mm."

"Don't you trust me?" Iwaizumi found himself saying, and Oikawa's pace faltered for an instant, his shoulders hunching in a tiny bit. 

"I…" Iwaizumi couldn't see Oikawa's face, but his voice sounded smaller. 

Spinning around, Oikawa set his hand on Iwaizumi’s head and rustled his hair, mouth curving in a smile that didn’t change his eyes. "How could I not trust someone as cute as you, Iwa-chan? Look at you, carrying my books and everything for me."

"Stop joking about-"

"Who said I was joking?"

Iwaizumi tried not to grind his teeth into dust particles. "Oikawa -"

Cutting across him yet again, Oikawa raised his voice. "I never thought I'd say this, but there are more important things to worry about than me, don't you think?"

Reaching out, Iwaizumi gripped his shoulder, swinging the bag of books off his back with his other hand. As soon as Oikawa rotated back, Iwaizumi thrust the end of the bag into his hand. "Carry your own fucking books."

He thought that if he talked to Oikawa any more, he'd be compelled to slam his head into the stone wall. 

"You're cruel," Oikawa told him, taking a hold of the fabric, but there was no usual trace of a smile in his expression or voice. 

The total lack of any teasing in his tone only made Iwaizumi more on edge. 

“And you’re an uncommunicative shit pile.” 

Oikawa’s face stayed neutral, stoney, but as soon as he spoke, Iwaizumi knew he’d hurt him. 

“I just… have to think, okay? Is a bit of space too much to ask?” He answered, the beginnings of a plea leaking into his tense voice. 

Placing a hand on Oikawa's back, Iwaizumi shoved him forwards. "Walk, and you'll have some space. We can't afford to dawdle here."

Something flashed across Oikawa's face. "Not physical space, you moron -"

"I know," Iwaizumi snapped back, averting his gaze from Oikawa's face. Oikawa was right - he had more important things to worry about. "You don’t have to call me dumb.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, despite his resolution to not look at him, he saw Oikawa’s jaw tense, the muscles in his cheek stiffening. 

As soon as they broke past the wall, Oikawa stopped in front of Iwaizumi, inhaling deeply.

"I smell blood. It's not strong, but definitely there."

"From where?"

Oikawa pivoted around, and looked towards the market sector, the enclosure beside the one they just exited. Iwaizumi could see smoke rising over the top of the wall, black dissolving into the clouds hanging above. 

"No…"

He gripped his mark, concentrating. He should've checked in with them sooner. 

_Akaashi?_

_Iwaizumi-san, please get over here as fast as you can. Bring Oikawa-san, there are people that need healing._

_What's happening?_

_Aecus responded with more force than anticipated._

Atsumu's voice chipped in. 

_It only went a teensy-weensy bit wrong, I mean, nobody's dead-_

_Forgive my presumption, Atsumu-san, but you have an arrow in your shoulder._

_As I said, a little wonky._

Iwaizumi's blood grew cold. 

_Are the people alright?_

_For now. Suffice to say, our distraction worked._

_So, we leaving, yeah?_

_We can't leave without helping these people -_

_None of 'em will die, stop being so dramatic, ya weirdo._

_I'm coming now._

Under Oikawa's scrutinous gaze, Iwaizumi began moving and something in his demeanour must've been urgent enough for Oikawa to stay silent, sticking by Iwaizumi's side as he raced towards the entrance to the market sector. 

It took them a dismally long time, scrambling over trenches and avoiding the launterned pathways between each outcropping of the main circle, allowing for freedom of movement to a certain degree. If the king wished, entire segments could be cut off from each other, leaving the residents without access to their housing, or food, or even to leave outside the walls. It was one way Torem had kept order, and Iwaizumi was more than familiar with the unrest and resentment that followed such events. It was rare, but it happened occasionally, and Iwaizumi suspected in this case she'd followed his example on shutting down Akaashi and Atsumu's provocation. 

Just before they reached the side door, a huge oaken hulk of one, used to accommodate a steady stream of people two, three abreast, Oikawa pulled him back. "There are guards on the wall, and at the door."

Halting, Iwaizumi squinted his eyes, and dropped down further into the shadows, away from the path, finding that Oikawa was right. He cursed softly, tracking the shifts of the two guards leaning back on either side of the door, the ones pacing along the top of the grand wall. He had hoped that every single guard would be drawn into the chaos, but apparently Aecus were too well-organised to leave their keep undefended. He could hear commotion from the other side of the wall, yells and shouts, but thankfully no clanging of metal. It either meant Aecus hadn't drawn their swords, or simply there was nobody there with weapons to oppose them. 

He felt a tug on his arm, and he looked over at Oikawa, who pointed upwards. 

"The aqueducts?" Iwaizumi questioned, following his finger to the huge arching structure, running almost parallel to the path, reaching skyward even higher than the walls. They connected the different areas, and were specifically built so high that not even the guards on the walls could siphon off water, and no Bricker could possibly push themselves that far up. 

Oikawa nodded. “You can get us up there with a Brick.” 

“Now isn’t the time for jokes, Oikawa.”

Cheeks flushing, Oikawa snapped back. "You think I would joke about this? You want to get into the city without being spotted, that's the way to do it. If you won't take my advice, you're welcome to go and kill those guards just to get what you want, as if they aren't people themselves -"

Iwaizumi felt a surge of anger flood through him, and he had to clench his fists up, tension quivering up his arms. "Alright, alright, I get it. Just tell me what to do."

Oikawa's gaze skidded across his face, as if afraid of being caught by his eyes, and his jaw set, upturning his face towards the arches. He'd been off since the tunnels, and Iwaizumi felt a little bit of fear creep into his irritation. He'd become comfortable with Oikawa's presence, forgetting how flighty he could be, how stubborn and self-directed. He was lucky, he thought, to even have him here, willing to help the Form. 

So he stayed quiet as he trailed after Oikawa's light, deft footsteps, springing from one tuft of grass to another on the uneven earth, his cloak splaying out like a cloud of ink across the shadows. The aqueduct stretched out longer than the skyline, blotting out great swathes of stars, whole constellations hidden behind its bulk. 

"Oikawa, there's no way I can get us up there," Iwaizumi called out, and Oikawa didn't slow down, didn't glance back. He kept moving forwards, and despite his doubts, Iwaizumi followed him. 

Oikawa stopped just short of the brick arch base, one as wide as if Iwaizumi spread out both of his arms, and turned back to Iwaizumi. His eyes were dulled in the smothered moonlight, tarnished copper as he spoke. Strands of his hair fell free around his shoulders, grey in the darkness, as if all of their remarks had sucked the colour from him, his skin looking more like a statue than ever. 

Iwaizumi had to remind himself to breathe. There was something dangerous about Oikawa's coldness, a hard sort of attraction that made his blood heat up, heart pulsing hot in his chest. 

"Iwaizumi."

Iwaizumi snapped back to himself. He didn't have time for this - this was why he couldn't afford to - it always happened - _fuck._

"So what's your grand plan?" 

"When you Brick against something, the thing pushes back. This usually is contained inside yourself and that's why you don't get pushed back - the force is borne by your organs, and that's why you feel weakness -"

"Oikawa, get to the point. Tell me the theory later."

"The theory is important!" Oikawa insisted. "If you learned how to stop the Brick from reflecting back within you and keep it outside your skin, you could, theoretically, Brick both of us up the wall. Like how that guy in Flightless jumped up during your battle.” 

"You're insane," Iwaizumi said in disbelief. "I've never done anything remotely like that before, and now you want me to catapult us straight up onto that?!"

"You can do it. Probably."

“If I manage to exert enough power to get up over the top, if I manage to get the angle right to not bounce us off the side or fling us over, if I can even try it at all!” Iwaizumi blurted out, his hands growing away from him, agitated. "This isn't going to work, Oikawa!"

Some of Oikawa's arrogance snuck back into Oikawa's face, and he tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at Iwaizumi. In the near non-existent lighting, they almost looked like just hollow shadows. "Not with that attitude, Iwa-chan!"

"Not with any attitude! We have to get in-"

"If you have to get in, then do this. You've Bricked others multiple times, now all you have to do is aim it towards the ground and contain the backlash. Or would you rather murder those guards?" Oikawa's tone was airy, casual, something damning in contrast to the night air.

Iwaizumi felt a chill run over his skin. His chest compressed in on itself. "Fine."

He examined the structure again, noting the bits of greenery embedding itself into the cracks between the bricks. Maybe, just maybe, if he failed, if they could get a grip of those, they wouldn't die. 

"How do I do this?" Iwaizumi asked, and Oikawa shrugged offhandedly. "I don't know, I'm not a Bricker."

"Oikawa!"

"Fine. If I had to guess, picture a shield on your skin as you Brick down through your feet." Oikawa raised a fist, knocking it against Iwaizumi's temple. "Picture it all as steel. That's how I solidified my Breath, at first. It's second nature to me now, but visualising your unseen power as something familiar, known, helps a lot."

"Whoa." Iwaizumi blinked, failing to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice. "You gave me actual advice?"

He tried it immediately, and the earth underneath him cracked. 

"Careful!" Oikawa burst out, backing up a step. "Make sure to focus on your Bricking, not your Fracturing. Separate them before releasing any of your white."

Iwaizumi rubbed a hand across his eyes, as if he could physically cool them down. He had a sense that his irises were flashing white, energy his skin could barely contain baring its teeth, nipping at his veins, accelerating his heartbeat. 

"Tell me if you need me to Breathe," Oikawa said to him, cautiously creeping closer again. "I'll expect a big outburst of energy, so tell me if you're near to losing control." 

"I won't lose control." 

Ignoring Oikawa's arched eyebrow, Iwaizumi tested himself, allowing a little bit of power to squirm out of his skin, feeling the pressure gather at the soles of his feet. He released it, and was thrown up into the air, his feet coming right out of his boots. 

"Oh, yeah," Oikawa told him, hiding a smile as Iwaizumi thumped to the ground again, careening to the side before falling over. "Since it's coming out of your skin, it's going to brace itself against anything solid. You're going to have to take your boots off."

Scowling, Iwaizumi picked himself up. "We don't have time for you to fuck around with me."

Grabbing his crumpled boots, his feet soaked through, he marched back up to Oikawa. Akaashi didn't have time for him to practice. "We're doing this now." 

"You-" Oikawa's lips curled backwards, but he allowed Iwaizumi to dump his boots in Oikawa's bag, watching him with skeptical eyes. "You better be able to pull this off."

"I will. C'mere." Iwaizumi lifted his arm. 

On cue, Oikawa flattened himself against Iwaizumi's side, and Iwaizumi tried not to notice the heat of his body, the closeness of his face nestled in the corner of his eye. His hand rested on Iwaizumi's waist, uncertain at first, then his fingers took a firmer hold, looping through his belt next to his hilt. It felt like Oikawa was tugging him, drawing him in, rather than holding onto him. 

Iwaizumi took a deep breath. Focus. Push back the fear, the annoyance, the curiosity of what Oikawa's bare skin would feel like against his. Steel shield, spinning over the soles of his feet. He arched his head back, staring at the stone rolling upwards, seemingly continuing on endlessly.

He let his power through. 

They shot upwards, and Oikawa clutched onto Iwaizumi's hip, his weight dragging Iwaizumi's motion down. And yet, Iwaizumi found himself arching much too high, misjudging the apex badly - very badly. He floundered, Oikawa cursing loudly in his ear, and panicked. The Brick, the burst of power that bubbled and erupted from his shoulder, did nothing. There was nothing to brace his Brick against, only air, and there was no pushback to adjust their course. His clothes only fluttered as the power passed through the material, rippling it against his skin. 

Before he could think of something else, his back slammed into the brick, and all of his breath - and what felt like his lungs - left his chest. Oikawa cried out next to him, his arm biting into Iwaizumi's lower back, tumbling down away from him, his hold lost. 

Oikawa skidded further than he did, the momentum of the bag on his back dragging him over the apex of the arch easily. His fingers scrabbled for a hold on the slick surface, and Iwaizumi saw crimson seep out from his forefinger as his nail cracked off, his eyes reflecting fear. Lurching towards him, Iwaizumi's reaching hand managed to catch onto his sleeve, and then Iwaizumi was being brought with the momentum too, slower, not slow enough. Oikawa's hand slipped around his wrist as his feet went over the edge into nothing but air, and with a sudden jerk, the pull on Iwaizumi became a whole lot stronger. 

Grunting, Iwaizumi tried to grip onto the wall to stop his motion, his other palm pressing flush to the cold stone, socked toes fighting for any friction. He could see Oikawa's face disappear over the edge, and in the next moment he was staring over the edge too, at the wide, vast earth underneath them, the support elongating an impossible amount downwards.

Oikawa flung the bag up over the edge with a gasp of effort, and the momentary tug felt like Iwaizumi's arm was being wrenched out, tendons and ligaments snapping underneath his flesh, but the load was lightened, and Oikawa's other fingers scrabbled at the smooth curve. The brick dug into Iwaizumi's shoulders as he attempted to pull Oikawa up, but his lean, tall form was too heavy.

"Use your white, Brick away from you!" Oikawa snapped up at him. 

"I could send us off the other side-"

"Better than falling down this side!"

Iwaizumi considered it, then took stock of the panic mingling with his white, raking along his bones as if sharpening its teeth. 

"I'll send us over the side," he told Oikawa. "I can't control the smaller amounts of power, not when I'm like this."

His shoulder was screaming for mercy, for relief from the torturous stretching, the wrenching of his bone from the socket. They slid down a little further, and Iwaizumi swore he could see his own reflection in Oikawa's widened eyes. 

"Are there any saplings nearby?" Oikawa asked, voice veering towards fear.

What the fuck? Why? Iwaizumi spared a moment to look around, the burn in his shoulder intensifying. He had to speak through a clenched jaw. "By your right foot."

"Thank the gods," Oikawa gritted out. "Okay then." 

His hand, previously flailing at the arch's side, reached over and clutched at Iwaizumi's wrist. "You're going to have to hold me." He glanced down, and Iwaizumi saw a little bit of colour run out of his cheeks. 

Closing his eyes, Oikawa Breathed, and Iwaizumi's eyes widened. There it was, the gold smoke he'd seen when he was Breathing, swirling from his skin, except with an accompanying, low scent, something familiar he couldn't identify. He heard a crackling from beneath him, and saw leaves unfurling out, branches extending out to wrap around Oikawa's feet, steadying him. The release of pressure on Iwaizumi's shoulder came in a great swoop, and he gasped in a breath, his chest no longer pinned to the stone. 

Oikawa, his eyes still closed in concentration, appeared to levitate up to him, his feet secure in a mass tangle of wood, thickly layered underneath and around, writhing as if their lifetime growth had all been sped up into a few troks. As soon as he was level to the arch's midpoint, the twigs curved back from his feet, releasing him, and Oikawa stepped off the tightly curled branches. He stopped, quietly running his hands through his hair, smoothing it over, unbothered as Iwaizumi caught his breath. 

"Fuck, Oikawa, why didn't you do that earlier?" Iwaizumi demanded, and Oikawa gave him a sharp laugh back. "Why would I not let you do all the work?"

There was something else to it, Iwaizumi knew. Oikawa's left eye had quivered, his fingers restless against his sides, nails picking at the fabric of the bag. That hadn't been ordinary Breathing - the smoke, the scent, all of it was _more_. Yet he didn't have time to press it now. Scowling, Iwaizumi rotated his aching shoulder, scrambling to his feet. A wave of dizziness burst through his head, and he would've pitched over the side if Oikawa hadn't grabbed his shoulder, sending a flash of pain through him, clearing away the cloudiness in his head. 

"Are you okay?" Oikawa asked, and his words were the most honest since they'd started the raid. 

Breathing heavily, Iwaizumi nodded, retrieving his boots from the bag and pulling them on. "Yeah… I think. It's just been a lot of strain. But we're here."

He began moving, brushing past Oikawa and beginning to run, aware of Akaashi's possible situations. In the night, the aqueducts weren't lit up, being far too high up to light lanterns for, and they made good time, fairly confident they wouldn't be spotted by the guards along the wall. 

Unfortunately, that also meant that he could barely see his own feet, and coupled with the surge of weakness in his limbs, he found himself slipping, almost pitching over a few times. On those occasions, Oikawa's hand grabbed the strap of his armour, hauling him back to the middle of the broad arch. Sometimes he coupled it with an "idiot," murmured underneath his breath, sometimes he didn't, and once Iwaizumi swore he could feel his fingertips press into the skin of his shoulder, maybe checking for injury, maybe not. 

They passed over the wall unspotted, and Iwaizumi slowed down, panting quietly as he dipped to one knee. He surveyed their situation - they were inside the walls, sure, but the main market circle, where Akaashi and Atsumu would be, was at the other end, near the main entrance. In front of him, the aqueduct continued on, outcroppings of pipes protruding from below the main pipeline filtering the water down into the community spaces before arching over the opposite wall. There was no obvious way down, no way to survive the drop-

"They have to get up here to do maintenance somehow," Oikawa muttered, lowering his head, searching. "It would be stupid to put a way up outside the walls, but inside…."

He skimmed past Iwaizumi, balancing elegantly on the brick despite the weight of the books on his back. After him, Iwaizumi rose to his feet, attempting to shake off the unsteadiness, and followed.

"Here."

Oikawa crouched, his fingertips brushing against the curve of the brick. Below, two bumps were spaced apart about a torso's width, notches beaten into the stone underneath at regular intervals. Iwaizumi had no idea how he had spotted that, but he wasn't going to complain about it. 

"You know," Oikawa mentioned, bending over as his fingers sought out the grooves in the brick, "If you were more skilled, I'd suggest we leap off and you Brick us upwards just before we reach the ground, but I don't feel like dying today."

Iwaizumi snorted. "Strange, me neither."

Oikawa turned and took hold of the two raised handles on either side, his upper body easily holding his weight as his legs swung over the edge, grazing down the brick until they found the indents. He slipped down quickly, and Iwaizumi followed him. 

The descent took longer than Iwaizumi would've liked, the time spent doing nothing but climbing down feeling like an utter waste. The sounds of the merchant area behind them didn't comfort Iwaizumi, clattering and shouts drifting up from - Iwaizumi took a moment to look over his shoulder, noting the column of black smoke rising from between the tall, leaning buildings. It seemed to be coming from near the main entrance, which - of course - was nearly the furthest away spot from where the aqueduct and facilities were. Downwards, the support was absorbed by a building, and they were heading into a hole through the rooftop.

As they continued, a tunnel surrounded the support, and as Iwaizumi's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see flat ground below, likely where the maintenance men reached the ladder through the building. Oikawa jumped off, untying his bag from around his neck, not sparing Iwaizumi a glance as he vanished from his view, heading through the adjoining tunnel. Iwaizumi followed suit a trok later, crossing to where Oikawa was crouched, examining the lock on the only door at the end of the short tunnel. He pushed his shoulder against it experimentally, then stood up, sighing. "Curse the gods, the bolt is on it. Even if I did lockpick it, it would be useless. Fracture it, would you?”

Iwaizumi lifted a hand, then frowned. 

"I thought when I Fracture, the whole connected thing collapses."

"No, it's only the object, or if you're not powerful enough for large objects, a portion of it," Oikawa explained, despite the impatience engraving its way across his face. "Think of it like dye in water - it'll spread out, but you have to know the right concentration, otherwise it'll be too light and unable to break it, or too dark and explode it into pieces." 

And then, almost begrudgingly, "You've gotten the balance more or less right so far. Trust your instincts."

As if Iwaizumi's moment of stunned silence wasn't acceptable, he quickly followed up with, "But you tend to overdo it on the power sometimes! You don't have to destroy the whole thing, just a piece around where the lock is." 

Iwaizumi tried not to think too hard about it, about the flourishing power he gathered in his fingers, almost floating out of place on their own, unbidden by his mind. Focus. He pictured his white as a stream, opening the gates like he was opening a ferqol's cage, pictured it flooding the wood over only a certain area, then touched just above the lock. 

The entire door crumbled, and Iwaizumi turned back briefly to Oikawa, but Oikawa's attention was elsewhere, examining the domed ceiling intensely. 

"Oh, fuck the gods," Oikawa cursed, eyes landing back to Iwaizumi. "That was NOT the right balance-"

Oikawa grabbed Iwaizumi's hand and violently yanked him into a run, to Iwaizumi's confusion. A trok later, he realised what Oikawa had sensed - the rumbling of bricks slipping against bricks, of fractures snaking up the sides of the tunnel, dust clouds poofing out into their faces as they sprinted onwards. 

"Wait, what'd I do? Nothing else disintegrated," Iwaizumi asked as they hit some stairs, Oikawa nearly tripping over himself, hand iron around Iwaizumi's, taking the steps two at a time. 

"Yes, but do you remember what I had literally just said about balancing it? You put too much power into the door, and it spread out further than you meant it to - I don't know what you hit, but it's not fucking good."

"Ah. Fuck.”

They ran around a corner, another door blocking their way, and Oikawa didn't even slow down. Before Iwaizumi's eyes, the door fell away in two halves, Oikawa coughing hard a trok later, splinters sinking into his cloak, dangling off his lower lip. 

"It could've been open-"

"Did you really think we had time to stop and check?" Oikawa demanded, kicking through the half-collapsed door without missing a beat. 

Iwaizumi didn't even think he could escape from Oikawa's hold on his hand even if he wanted to, but he wasn't complaining. At the same time, it was difficult to notice how sure Oikawa's fingers felt when he could hear the building groaning around them, thudding and shuffling like a heavy thunderstorm about to plummet to the earth. How much power had he released to destabilise it this badly? 

Dragging him down another set of stairs, Oikawa glanced upwards and winced. "We need to move faster."

Iwaizumi didn't think it was possible, but Oikawa's grasp on his hand increased, so much it felt as life his knuckles were being crushed into paste. How fucking strong was Oikawa? And yet, as they bolted down the third set of stairs, the walls beside them stammering, random bricks coming loose and toppling into their path, he found himself holding on just as tightly. 

"There!"

Oikawa gestured with his chin towards the next door - and then the pillars above it crumbled, spilling down in front of them, chucking up grains of brick and heavy dust. Coughing, Iwaizumi felt Oikawa pull him back to the end of the stairs, the ceiling slowly following the doorways example, continuing to work backwards towards them, brick and wood crashing into the ground. 

Iwaizumi pressed his free hand flat against the right-hand wall and Fractured as hard as he could, yanking Oikawa with him as he dived forwards, through the wall of ash that used to be the building's side. He felt the push of air behind him as everything rushed down and outwards, a blast of ash hitting his back, blown outwards by the force of everything above it suddenly having no support and plummeting freely. 

Hitting the ground and tumbling into a roll, Iwaizumi had to let go of Oikawa's hand. He came up a moment later, his boots half-covered in ash, but alive. 

Beside him, Oikawa bent over, hands on his knees, and gasped out, "You are the most useless magicker I've ever met. You -" he paused to gulp in some air. "You have so much power, and yet you can't use it for shit. Repressing it for your entire life was the most stupid thing you've ever done. And that's saying a lot, since you just did one of the most stupid things I've ever seen." 

"I got us here, didn't I?" Iwaizumi shot back, his chest loosening as he inhaled deeply, ash mingling with the sweat on his lips. "And can't you think of any other word aside from 'stupid?'"

Oikawa lifted his gaze, and stared at Iwaizumi flatly for a trok, then deliberately looked behind them, at the giant pile of ash and bricks. "There better have been nobody in there."

"I hope not," Iwaizumi murmured his agreement, tapping into his mark. Thankfully, it was the middle of the night, and somehow he doubted that people slept at their job posts. 

_Akaashi?_

No answer.

Fear growing in him, Iwaizumi scrambled down to the main street, hearing voices skirt around the buildings, weaving and growing with every step he took, breaking into a sprint. He was dimly aware that Oikawa was keeping up with him, only a beat behind, but his focus was ahead, on the voice he thought was Akaashi's. Weaving through the narrow gaps of the four-storey leaning buildings, all connecting overhead, sloping against each other like two drunken men at the end of the night, closing out the moon and the stars. 

Soldiers streamed out in front of him, up the main street, back towards the castle, and Iwaizumi reckoned that they'd found out that the heir was missing. Ducking his face, he joined the people packed against the sides of the streets, into doorways, tents and makeshift hobbles perched against the side of buildings, sticks propping up cloth into a canopy. Smoke billowed up from the main circle, and the scent of it was hot ash against Iwaizumi's lips, acrid and scalding. He began shoving his way through with more urgency, his hand clutching his mark. 

_Akaashi, where are you?_

_Follow the smoke, or the injured._

Oikawa grabbed his wrist, pulling him across the street. "I can smell the blood."

His lungs feeling like they were drowning in ice, Iwaizumi followed Oikawa, trusted the cold fingers depressing against his wrist, strong against his pulse. Confident and sure, Oikawa led him through the flow of people, ebbing and pressing up against Iwaizumi, and he found himself staring at the back of Oikawa's neck, partially covered by his low ponytail, swaying back and forth with the swivel of his wide shoulders. His clean, white shirt, as always, stood out, and Iwaizumi had to drag his mind back to focus. 

Cries began to seep through the murmur of the crowd, urgent people rushing back and forth, arrows crunching into the paving stone beneath Iwaizumi's feet. He got glimpses of others slumped on the ground, streams of crimson smeared by feet across slabs, and heard, through all of the jabbering, Oikawa's deep exhale. The further they went into the depths of the circle, the thicker the wounded were gathered, others kneeling by them, talking in low voices, offering water dripping out of cupped hands. People gathered around the centre, where Iwaizumi saw smoke emitting from, managing to see broken wooden poles, what looked like the edges of crumpled, stamped-down tents smouldering. 

He caught a glimpse of deep-black hair through the brown hoods, and his toes clipped at Oikawa's heels as Iwaizumi sped up, Oikawa's fingers falling away. 

"Akaashi!" Iwaizumi called out, and Akaashi turned his head, his neck arching back smoothly, exposing his pale throat. "Iwaizumi-san. Oikawa-san. Thank you for coming."

Atsumu appeared next to him, one arm dangling freely by his side. "Fuckin' bastards, every single one of them. The wounded are being moved into the - oh shit, you guys actually showed up. Are you gonna do somethin'?"

"Tell me what happened. Wasn't everything going well?"

“It was, they were simply gathering at the edges, controlling the crowd... Until they attacked us. Villagers and refugees.” Akaashi’s voice was hollow. “Not with intent to kill, but I didn’t think… I’m sorry, Iwaizumi-san. I misjudged the situation and her reaction. I really thought that in an attempt to keep up the appearance of a safe place, she’d hold back."

“There’s fuck all else to go,” Atsumu said. “The Westlands and the North have completely shut their borders, and there’s more skuts pressing up from the South. Only the suicidal and insane would go East.” 

Makki and Mattsun crossed Iwaizumi's mind briefly, and he wondered which category they fell into. Oikawa passed by him, closer to Atsumu, and Atsumu stepped back, flat-eyed. The tents on fire behind him crackled.

"What? What're you looking at me for?"

Oikawa raised his chin, just a little. "If you haven't noticed, Sum-kun, your arm is looking a little worn. Have you been overusing it somehow? But it's okay - I'll do you this tiny favour -"

"Stop talking, oh for the Lady's sake, stop talking. Yer more annoying than my brother. Heal me if you think it'll redeem you somehow, it's not a big deal to me." Atsumu grabbed the shaft of the arrow and yanked it out, blood flowing freely down his shirt. 

Iwaizumi saw Oikawa's left eye shift upwards for a trok, betraying his annoyance. Laying a hand on his arm, he curled his fingers around Oikawa's solid forearm, feeling the bandages from his ferqol wound underneath his cloak's sleeve. "Thanks, Oikawa." 

Oikawa acknowledged him with a nod. Standing as far away from Atsumu as possible, Oikawa Breathed. Atsumu's body jolted a bit, but he stubbornly stayed flat-expressioned, despite the burning deep in his usually impassive eyes. There was something there, an incinerating hatred that couldn't have stemmed from Oikawa's personality alone. Not for the first time, Iwaizumi wondered why he had joined the Form in the first place, instead of following in his brother's footsteps, why they shared such an intense dislike for magickers. 

Sure, the Form had rules against them, but out of practicality, to defend against the corruption of too much power - not to facilitate hatred. Maybe some didn't see it that way. 

The very trok he got his Breath back, Oikawa instantly turned towards the wounded along the sides, seeking out the most severely injured and dropping to a crouch in front of them, murmuring words Iwaizumi couldn't hear. Atsumu's face creased into a scowl for a trok, then straightened out.

"We'll get all the wounded in one place, so he doesn't have to waste time finding them," Iwaizumi told them. "I'm not familiar with this sector - are there any designated medical houses?"

Atsumu nodded, rotating his arm almost suspiciously, as if he wasn't expecting it to work. "I'll show Akaashi where they are. C'mon, we'll gather them up."

Iwaizumi was about to go and help them when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar, unusually tall man. Rotating around, he spotted Kenma next to Ushijima, and pushed his way over to them. They shouldn't be here - they should be halfway to the Form by now -

“The heir?” Iwaizumi burst out, seizing Ushijima's elbow. "Where is he?"

Silence. He saw Ushijima's throat shift, dark skin sliding down over a rock of an adam's apple.

Kenma glanced away. "I'm gonna go."

He slipped into the cracks of the crowd and vanished. 

"Where-" Iwaizumi's voice fractured. "Where's Daichi and Ennoshita?"

"Ennoshita's-" Ushijima whirled around, deep-set eyes searching hard through the crowd. "I.. I don't know. We lost them in the chaos. We've been looking, but-"

"Daichi?" Iwaizumi pressed, stepping in, blocking out the clammering of the crowd around them. 

"Daichi… We had to leave him behind," Ushijima stated. His eyes creased, and he looked away, down towards the ground, fists curling up. "We had to. We didn't have the numbers to fight them."

Iwaizumi swallowed, hard, his mind buzzing. It had fallen apart. It had all fallen apart, and he wasn't there. Because he had gone back for Oikawa. Because he always tried to save everyone. Ushijima had been right to break up with him. He couldn't face the idea of the greater good when it meant sacrificing someone he loved. He never learned, never changed, hadn't changed one fucking bit. 

"What-"

“Iwaizumi-san!” 

Ennoshita, the side of their cloak wet with blood, stumbled up to them, breathing harshly. 

Iwaizumi caught them, gripping their elbows. "Ennoshita, are you okay? What happened?"

"We were ambushed on the way out. Someone raised the alarm, I don't know who... They... took back the heir, and we had to -" their voice crumbled, disintegrating away at the edges. "We left him. We left him."

"Ushijima told me, but I don't understand - we telegraphed the whole thing - there was no way she could've known-"

"But she did!" Ennoshita burst out, and they looked straight at Iwaizumi, despair setting into their expression. "I don't know how, but she did! And he - he -"

They squeezed their eyes closed, and the unease in Iwaizumi from earlier returned in full force, drowning his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Oikawa straighten up, his attention drawn away from the healed, and quickly stride back over to them. 

"Let me look at your wound. You can tell us what happened afterwards, when you're not hurt," Oikawa said softly, taking Ennoshita's hand in his and guiding it away from their side. Iwaizumi moved to the side as Oikawa gently undid their side straps, revealing several gashes, their blood a deep reddish-brown. They had hardened over the wounds with their blood, forming an armour-like plate, but their body was clearly still damaged underneath. 

"It doesn't matter if I'm hurt. I'm no use to anyone anyway," Ennoshita spat out, and then they looked away, shoulders slumping forwards. "I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't be putting all of this on you. Ignore me." 

"Don't apologise. If you need to say it, say it." Oikawa met their eyes. "But don't expect reassurance from me."

They nodded, steel-grey eyes creasing up. "You listening to me is more than I would ask for. I just can't believe - Suga's going to…" They couldn't continue, and lowered their head.

Oikawa said nothing, only instructing them to brace themself as he Breathed. It still hurt - he could see from the look in their eyes, the creasing of their brow - and he wondered how she had managed to get her Breath so tender. He wished he could wield his Breath like that, something that actually felt like an instrument of healing. 

He heard Iwaizumi and Ushijima talk beside him, Ushijima lifting a hand to touch Iwaizumi's elbow, and Oikawa forced himself to focus on Breathing instead. But he couldn't miss the way Iwaizumi's face fell - it was horrible, really, how bad he was at hiding his emotions, how little he was able to grasp them. How bad had the raid gone, exactly? 

Ennoshita let out a gasp beside him, and Oikawa returned to the present, steadying Ennoshita with a hand on their shoulder. "Do you feel okay?"

"Yeah... " Ennoshita bit their lip. "Tell me what I can do to help. These people were used for a distraction, and now they're dying and we didn't even achieve anything -"

"Hey, hey," Oikawa soothed them, squeezing their shoulder. "Worry about that later, okay? Right now, try to find anyone who needs healing and send them to me, okay? That would be a massive help." 

He smiled at Ennoshita, who gazed at him a trok, their expression still crestfallen, bearing a responsibility Oikawa didn't think they deserved. 

"I don't know what happened in there, but you -"

"I didn't do enough." Their voice was low, but strong. "I'll do what you asked. Where will you be?"

Oikawa blinked. Okay, maybe he didn't need to reassure them… which was great, he didn't have time to waste. "I should be wherever that asshole Atsumu sets up a temporary healing camp. You can communicate with him, right?"

Ennoshita nodded, gripping Oikawa's arm briefly. "Thank you." 

Oikawa threw a glance over to where Iwaizumi had stood, but he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! You're all so supportive and kind and I ahhh! this past week was hectic so I'm sorry for the delay on replying to your comments 
> 
> so you may have noticed that the chapter count went ?, I've the path to the end sketched out, and I could condense it down, but as ye may have picked up by now, I don't really like rushing things. they will take as long as they will take, and I hope you'll stay along for the ride, because hell, this is a RIDE. (if things turn out halfway like I've planned, anyways)
> 
> and in case you didn't catch it earlier ->


	12. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi and Oikawa struggle to deal with their circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little late, I was reading over it last night and some scenes just weren't feeling right, y'know?   
> Anyways, it's here now, and I hope you guys like it ^^

Oikawa's head was growing dizzy, his steps uncertain, but he had to keep going. There were more injured, more whose conditions would worsen if he didn't get to them in time. The lines of tables wriggled, as if trying to escape his vision, and he blinked, attempting to straighten them, get them to be steady. 

He felt someone catch his shoulder. 

"Rest." Iwaizumi's voice. "You look like you're about to collapse."

"I can't," Oikawa answered, trying to brush off his hand. "More people need healing." 

"Your injury… Mattsun said -"

"She healed it," Oikawa said. "It's fine now." 

"What? Why would she do that?" 

Oikawa shrugged. He wasn't going to tell Iwaizumi about her offer here, not in front of people who already didn't trust that he was on their side. He couldn't blame them for their doubts. He wasn't certain if he was on their side either. 

He moved away, kneeling by the next bed, but Iwaizumi followed him, too close to his side, his grounding presence impossible to ignore. "Oikawa, what happened before I found you?"

"I'll tell you later," Oikawa replied, looking towards the injured man. He held up a hand. 

"You're the Breather, aren't you? I'm -" he coughed, blood welling from the cut in his chest. "I'm fine." 

Oikawa shook his head, hand reaching out. "You're not." 

The man looked at his hand, eyes wide, and in a quick, frantic motion, slapped it away from him. "I said I'm fine. I don't want you helping me." 

Holding back a scowl, Oikawa rubbed his stinging hand. Ungrateful bastard. 

Iwaizumi knelt beside Oikawa, speaking gently. "He's healed me more times than I can count. He's the best Breather I know of, you can trust him. I know you're wary, I was at first. But he's good at what he does - you'll be able to get up and walk around in minutes." 

The man considered for a moment then shook his head. "He's - no offence intended, Iwaizumi-san - still a skut. How do I know I won't get white after he heals me?"

Oh, of course he knew Iwaizumi. He was probably a permanent resident in the Inner walls - he'd have seen Iwaizumi marching out dozens, if not hundreds, of times. And yet, they still believed white was infectious. Oikawa gave him a thin smile. "Because of the hundreds of people I've healed before you."

"Which I have no way to verify."

Exhaling hard, Oikawa closed his eyes briefly. Every time he had to deal with this, it grew more tiresome. 

“Look,” Iwaizumi said, with more patience than Oikawa could have ever managed. He drew his sword, and sliced it across his open palm, blood running in thin rivers, following the grooves of his hand. Oikawa thought that his calloused hand was like a landscape, a map of his life, moulded by the rough patches of hardship and the soft touches of a lover.

Iwaizumi turned towards Oikawa, his lips parting, and Oikawa Breathed. 

It was a simple wound. Pain flashed through Iwaizumi's eyes, but only for a moment. 

“See? It’s alright.” Iwaizumi stated, showing him his unmarked palm, wiping away the remnants of blood. 

“Fine,” the man submitted. 

Iwaizumi laid a hand on Oikawa's back as he healed him, bending in as soon as Oikawa straightened up.

“Once the proper heir is on the throne, we’ll change this,” Iwaizumi told him, his voice barely above a murmur. “We’ll make people see that you’re not to be feared.” 

Oikawa released a breath. “It won’t be that easy.” 

"I know. But it's right." 

Oikawa stumbled over his next step, and Iwaizumi gripped his elbow, steadying him. "You have to rest, Oikawa. You're going to get fatigued. We can handle the others, you've already healed most of the urgent ones."

"I'm fine," Oikawa told him, brushing away his hand, but he felt another flash of weakness, and he couldn't stop himself from pitching sideways. He bashed into Iwaizumi's shoulder, immediately straightening up, blinking the blots of black out of his sight. 

Iwaizumi's arm rounded his torso, supporting him. "Cut the bullshit, Oikawa. I'm bringing you back to the Form." 

Oikawa didn't have the energy to argue. He curled against Iwaizumi's side, dropping the side of his head onto his shoulder, allowing him to lead him wherever. Iwaizumi’s hand was gentle but firm, pressed just above his hip, his arm hard against his lower back.

As they drew outside, passing through the doorway, Oikawa tilted his face upwards, feeling early morning mist dapple across his skin. The dawn streaked across the sky in yellowed lines, dissolving the night grey. 

"Good morning to us," Iwaizumi murmured, and it dragged a half-raggled laugh out of Oikawa, his fingers digging into Iwaizumi's shoulder. His answer emerged harsh, as if his breath had been thinned out. 

"Yeah. Good fucking morning to us." 

They returned to the Form's base, a journey that should've taken them half a day. Oikawa was so exhausted, it took them almost the entire day. He caught Iwaizumi, who had volunteered to carry the bag of books, glancing back at him often, sometimes reaching out an arm to steady him, and that suited Oikawa just fine. He needed time to think, and he didn't have time to concentrate on how drained his legs felt with every step. 

What had he really been doing in Torem's castle? He'd been so exhausted after Semi's death, his body sickening every time someone passed with his shade of silver hair, someone with sharp grey eyes, how he used to scrunch up his face when thinking… Oikawa hadn't focused on anything else but his grief, distracting himself by drafting contract after contract, until his hollow fingers released the quill in the dead of night. He had the luxury, the privilege, of wallowing in grief while Torem did nothing to stop the ordinary people turning on their own kind, even aiding them through his military force.

He was no better than the king had been.

"You... good?" Iwaizumi cleared his throat next to him, and Oikawa looked away. "Just perfect, Iwa-chan." 

"You sure? Because you're a little -"

Oikawa rotated fully towards Iwaizumi, halting for a heartbeat as he met his gaze. His confused eyes looked murky under the overcast sky, some muddled mixture of algae-overridden ponds and smoke. 

"I'm fine."

Iwaizumi grimaced, and Oikawa turned his attention back to the way ahead of them.

It wasn’t long after that his legs buckled beneath him, and they were forced to rest. 

A little bit into the stronghold, Iwaizumi felt Oikawa push himself away from him, opting to steady himself with his hand on Iwaizumi's shoulder. Oikawa had been woozy the whole journey, and naps appeared to do little to revive him, his drawn cheeks paler than usual, and even his frequent teasing jabs had been dulled, which concerned Iwaizumi most of all. 

"Oikawa, are you sure that you can-"

Iwaizumi broke off, after seeing what Oikawa had probably heard before him. 

Atsumu stood in the corridor, leaning back on his heels and chin lifted, chatting away to Akaashi, Ennoshita, and Ushijima, hands linked behind his head. His airy, asshole tone never failed to snip at Iwaizumi's patience.

As they approached, Atsumu fixed his eyes on Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi instantly felt a surge of defensiveness, even though his arm wasn't even around Oikawa any more. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Oikawa was blinking more than usual, one foot positioned just a little more behind than usual to steady himself. 

"You're back," Akaashi said, gratitude lacing through his voice. "We saved you some dinner, Iwaizumi-san." 

"Thanks," Iwaizumi replied. "Sorry we're so late." 

"Where did you go during the raid, anyway?" Atsumu said, staring at Oikawa. "I dunno about the rest of ye, but I didn't see him healing anyone until afterwards."

"He went to his-" Ushijima began.

"You're welcome," Oikawa snapped out, the lack of sleep evident in his reddened gaze. "Nobody died because of me."

"Nobody died." Astumu spoke as if he was talking to a child. "Because none of her troops mortally wounded ours. As soon as they got the heir back, they left us alone. I don't know why, but they seemed content with capturing Daichi and nobody else. I don't trust 'er."

"The pacifist stance is bullshit," Iwaizumi said. "She murdered mercenaries because they didn't manage to get the heir from us. She's just trying to seem good to others and draw recruits." 

Akaashi examined Oikawa, and Iwaizumi's chest tightened. "Akaashi, don't look at him like that. He had nothing to do with her being prepared. She has someone who can see the future."

"That's impossible," Ushijima answered, tone even and ironed. "The one who had that ability died childless. For generations, there hasn't been any mention of someone like that."

Iwaizumi grit his jaw. "We can trust him. I know-"

He was stopped by Oikawa's hand on his arm. "It's okay," Oikawa murmured, and Iwaizumi shook his head. 

"It's far from okay, they're unfounded accusations with no proof-"

"You don't have any proof of your theory either," Atsumu interjected. 

Iwaizumi turned his gaze to Akaashi, who only shook his head. "Oikawa-san understands. We have to be cautious. There was no casualties this time, yet -"

"Thanks to Oikawa!" Iwaizumi blurted out, and he felt Oikawa grip his arm tighter, fingertips digging into his skin. "He's spent the entire night healing people and then you have the nerve to-"

"Iwa-chan, stop it. This isn't worth it."

"We must be careful," Akaashi continued. "I'm sorry, Iwaizumi. We can't share our plans with anyone we don't trust one hundred percent. Oikawa, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like, but please, don't feel under any obligation to help out."

"I'm a healer." Oikawa's voice was strong. "I'll help anyone that I can."

"And we deeply appreciate that," Akaashi told him formally, upturning his forearms. "Thank you."

Oikawa inclined his head with a lot more dignity than Iwaizumi could ever muster up, his demeanour calm and logical. "I'll either be in my room or the healing quarters if you need me."

"This is bullshit," Iwaizumi muttered underneath his breath, and he felt Oikawa squeeze his arm one last time before dropping his hand. 

Iwaizumi's skin felt cold. 

As they walked away, Ennoshita hurried up beside them. Iwaizumi slowed, motioning Oikawa to do the same. 

Ennoshita dipped their voice. "They're scared, not because they don't trust you, Iwaizumi, but because of the alternative. If Oikawa didn't betray us -"

"Then it was one of our own," Iwaizumi finished, and his hands curled into fists. "But I'm certain that it was neither. She has some way of seeing the future, I'm sure of it."

Ennoshita regarded him, sympathy clear in their gaze. "If you can find evidence of it, I will support your claim in the council. But having one sentence as proof… when she said 'guessing'... you have to see that it's not a solid basis for an argument." 

Blowing out a long breath, Iwaizumi closed his eyes. "Yeah. I can see that much." 

"I'm sorry, Oikawa-san," Ennoshita apologised. 

"For what? For not including me?" Oikawa's voice was scornful, and Ennoshita blinked, taken aback. "I think I can manage not being part of your little cult."

For once, Iwaizumi couldn't blame Oikawa for the bite in his words, the petty edge. 

"No, for them putting the blame for the failure onto you." They didn't falter. "There were conditions out of your control and no way you could've foreseen them. You weren't even there when she countered- "

"I should've been, just as I should've planned for this situation," Iwaizumi cut in, the hardness of his tone feeling like stone on his tongue. "I was the one in charge. If I had spent a little longer thinking about it instead of training -"

"No," Ennoshita interrupted him. "There's no way you could've predicted her movements. There's no point in you dwelling on it. As Akaashi said, nobody died, so we have another chance."

"This time," Iwaizumi pointed out, and his gaze brushed down to their side, where their ribs should be torn open, exposed, if not for Oikawa. "We can't rely on Oikawa to clean up our messes either." 

As if knowing what he was referring to, they pressed their hand to their side, the cloak crumpling down around it, mouth tight. "We'll do better next time. We have to, if we're going to get Daichi-san back."

With a clap on Iwaizumi's shoulder, Ennoshita left them, and Iwaizumi could only taste bitterness. 

Iwaizumi stayed beside Oikawa. 

Oikawa thought he would make an excuse, distance himself, but he was there, walking alongside him, his brow lowered and mouth set determinedly. 

"You can leave," passed Oikawa's lips, and Iwaizumi glanced over at him, frowning. 

"What? Do you want me to?" 

"Well…" Oikawa couldn't say yes. He couldn't lie to him. Bowing his head, Oikawa rubbed a hand across his dry eyes, feeling Iwaizumi's gaze burn through him. "I thought you wouldn't want to be seen with a skut like me. I’d understand, you don’t have to feel guilty.” 

"By the Lady, Oikawa, don't tell me all of that bullshit got to you," Iwaizumi said, and Oikawa shrugged, pushing open the door to his room. 

Iwaizumi stayed in the doorway, his eyes tracking Oikawa's movements. "You know it's not true, right? You didn't…"

"I didn't tell her shit." Oikawa looked away. "But...I healed that guard you stabbed, one of the first ones. I had hoped he wouldn't…"

"That's only a possibility. We don't know for sure. I'm not going to blame you for valuing a human life above the mission.." Iwaizumi trailed off, shame darkening his tone. "I went back for you, after all. I did the same thing."

"I know you understand," Oikawa replied, sitting on the edge of his bed. His palm rested on the gritty blankets. "But it's not just you. It's everyone else. How do you think they'll react to it?"

His head still spun from the amount of healing he'd done, having to blink hard to keep his vision clear. Fingers digging into the cloth, he grasped a fistful, as if trying to ground himself, feel something, even if it was only the harsh wool against his skin. 

He was barely aware of Iwaizumi shutting the door, sitting down beside him, the warmth of his shoulder against his melting through Oikawa's shirt.

He didn't care. He was exhausted and drained and everything was blurred. 

"I'm fucking sick of it," Oikawa said. "I'm sick of people looking at me and only seeing a skut. I want to help people, to heal people, but I… I hate the way they look at me. Every time I try to pass as a normal person, I hear of someone ailing, and I can't stop myself from healing them. And then I have to move on. Every single time. I'm tired of it." He sighed. "I didn't want that life for Yahaba. I had hoped maybe we could change things for them, but we can't. People are always going to fear us."

Iwaizumi laid a hand on his arm. "I understand what you mean, but-"

"No. You can hide without guilt. I can't. Do you know how difficult it is to live knowing that you could've helped so much more? To stand at a person's grave and know that you could've saved them? It makes me hate myself. Do you think I wanted to become selfish? Every time I tried to live anything resembling a normal life with a partner, they died. Because I can’t stand by while people die. I constantly have to choose between my life and others', and I can't… I can't live like this. This is a curse." Oikawa shut his eyes. "Breathing is a curse."

His throat knotted up, and he swallowed, trying to push back his tears. Then, he felt arms wrap around him, passing around his shoulders and holding him like ceramic about to crack. 

"I'm sorry," Iwaizumi murmured, and Oikawa's chest shuddered, a half-stifled sob breaking loose. 

Reaching out, his fingers dug into Iwaizumi's upper arms, and he tried to convince himself to pull away, but he couldn't. He never could, and Iwaizumi would suffer because of it. Because he was too weak to keep people away from him. Oikawa bowed his head into Iwaizumi's chest and broke. 

“I do know what you mean,” Iwaizumi whispered. “People see me, recognise my name, and see someone completely different to who I am. I’m either a hero or monarchy scum. Either way, they’re wrong.” He hugged Oikawa tighter. “I promise we’ll change things.” 

"It won't change." Oikawa's voice sounded hollowed out, even to his own ears, as if there was a vacancy in his throat. "I've tried for years, I've given all of my effort and understanding towards people, and their goodwill never lasts. Everything I did wasn't enough. It never will be."

Iwaizumi stayed with him. 

His arms stayed around Oikawa until his eyes were sore, his chest throbbed every time he inhaled, and his lips felt so cracked over with salt he feared the grooves may never go. He didn't say anything, but that was okay. Anything he said to try and make Oikawa feel better would've been a lie. 

Oikawa kept his gaze on his knees, his shoulders drooping under the weight of Iwaizumi's arm. "Thanks, Iwa-chan." 

He heard Iwaizumi sigh, warm against his ear. "I wish I could do more."

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, Oikawa glanced up, and attempted to smile. "This is enough. It's more than anyone has ever done for me in years."

"That's… really sad." Iwaizumi's voice was low, and he rubbed Oikawa's shoulder gently. 

"Oh, don't be," Oikawa dismissed him, swallowing thickly. "It's how I wanted it to be. I'm an utter ikol, after all."

"I don't think so."

"Only because you were stuck with me," Oikawa reminded him. "If we had less contact, you would've thought I was an asshole and moved on. What's the word you warriors use? Pleeth? How many times have you called me that?"

"I wasn't being serious - alright, maybe at the start I was," Iwaizumi admitted. "But I never believed that you took it to heart. After all, you gave as good as you got."

Oikawa laughed, a thin little laugh, but it was like a wisp of silk in his throat after the sobbing. "Aw, you think I took it to heart? That’s cute. As if any of your insults are good enough to affect me." 

He felt some of his old haughtiness sinking back in, Iwaizumi's familiar frown bringing back some normality. As if responding to his lift in mood, Iwaizumi's frown eased out, and he snickered, eyes glinting in the dimming light streaming through the window. 

"I'll make sure to improve them," he promised, and Oikawa snorted. "I'll believe that when I hear them."

Their eyes met - no, intertwined, and Oikawa swore he could see every fleck of brown in Iwaizumi's irises. The moment slowed. 

Then Iwaizumi leaned towards him, dipping his gaze to Oikawa's mouth, and Oikawa stilled, his heart banging against his ribcage, anxiety crawling over his skin. Hesitating, Iwaizumi glanced up, and retreated, his arm sliding off Oikawa's shoulders. 

He cleared his throat, pressing the back of his hand over his mouth. "Sorry, Oikawa. I - yeah. Not the time." 

Exhaling, Oikawa met his eyes and nodded. If he had been a bit more... here, he probably would've been annoyed by how easily Iwaiuzmi could read his expression, but his head was cloudy from crying and his lips numb. A slight raise of his spirits couldn't change his bone-exhaustion of a lifetime. 

He just wanted to rest. 

"I'll go now," Iwaizumi said, standing. His voice fluctuated as he spoke, eyes averting, hands hovering. "Let me know if you need anything, alright?"

Again, Oikawa nodded, too empty to speak. It was as if he had finally been dragged across the line of exhaustion, to a sort of space where there was nothing, no feeling, the weight of his flesh on his bones too heavy to carry. He didn't want to carry these ghosts any more, the deaths that had wormed their way into his ribs, reminding him of them every time he Breathed. And no matter his actions, he could never escape that horrible brand. 

_Skut._

With a last glance backwards, Iwaizumi shut the door behind him as if it was made of glass, and Oikawa was left with his thoughts. 

Iwaizumi curled up his fists, cursing himself as he strode down the corridor. Why had he thought that was a good time to kiss Oikawa? Choose a time where he was exhausted and emotionally vulnerable, great timing, Hajime, you utter fucking doorknob. Had his last droplet of sanity completely rotted away? Why did he decide that when Oikawa was finally being open with him it’d be a opportune time to kiss him? He wouldn’t blame Oikawa if he closed up again. Iwaizumi knew he’d be wary if he thought someone only wanted to listen to him because they thought they might be able to fuck him afterwards as a reward - oh, the Lady, Oikawa wouldn’t think of him as one of those men, would he? 

Iwaizumi’s chest tightened. Even if that wasn’t the case, kissing Oikawa for the first time when he was just sobbing his heart out… it felt exploitative, and Iwaizumi felt disgusted with himself for even trying. He was glad Oikawa hadn’t responded. 

But… it had felt right. Oikawa’s eyes were alight when he’d been gazing at him, his shoulders relaxed underneath Iwaizumi’s arm, and he had looked so handsome that it nearly tugged Iwaizumi's heart out. Despite the swollen eyes, the flaking, bitten lips, the flushed cheeks and dripping nose.

Still, if Oikawa had wanted to kiss him, he would’ve. 

Iwaizumi tried not to let that fact get to him. 

A voice broke into his thoughts, feet pattering up beside him. 

“Iwaizumi-san. You look troubled.” 

“I told you, just Iwaizumi is fine,” Iwaizumi said, turning to Akaashi. “And I’m alright. What is it?” 

“I just wanted to know, Hajime-san, if you have a moment?”

If Iwaizumi hadn’t known Akaashi, the glint of a smile in the corner of his mouth would’ve flown right by him. 

“I swear, you and your formalities. Call me Iwaizumi or Hajime,” Iwaizumi insisted. “But yeah, sure. What’s this about?”

Akaashi steered him into the storeroom, a glance of haste cast over his shoulder before closing the door silently behind them. "It's regarding Oikawa."

Iwaizumi folded his arms across his chest. "I know the rules against magickers-"

"It's something more troubling than that," Akaashi said. "I tried to ease Oikawa's tiredness earlier, when he was coming out of the medical room, but I couldn't."

Blinking, Iwaizumi dropped his arms. "Are you sure? I mean, Ushijima is also resistant, partially by nature…"

Akaashi shook his head. "Even with him, I can still affect his emotions a limited amount. He's resistant, not immune. I couldn't sense anything from Oikawa at all. What do you know of his heritage?"

"I…" The sense that he knew Oikawa well ran away from him. "I know he grew up in an orphanage near Awero's border."

Akaashi nodded, holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he thought, the unsteady lamplight making his hair dance with shadows. "That doesn't tell us much, but it does mean that it's not impossible that he's the child of a deity and a human. I know it's unlikely, but aside from him being a full deity - which is even more unlikely, we would've noticed his scent by now - it's the most probable explanation I can think of."

Iwaizumi grimaced, thinking of the tree spirit thing he'd seen in his memory. He didn't want to think how the hell they had reproduced with humans. "Now that you mention it, when I was Breath, I did see some sort of golden smoke rising from his skin. I thought it was just because he was an exceptionally strong Breather, that I was seeing his heightened senses or something, but I didn't see anything from Yahaba, or other magickers." 

"Since nobody else we know of was ever pure Breath, we can't confirm that that's a sign of a deity, but I must admit it seems very possible. It fits."

"But if he isn't, what other explanation is there?" Iwaizumi asked. "We only know of two precautions The Lady took with our powers to limit them, that we can't use them on deities and we can't have children. Is there more we haven't discovered? Or ones lost?"

"Not to my knowledge, but that doesn't mean there aren't any." Akaashi looked at Iwaizumi. "Try to find out more about Oikawa's parents if you can. Did he ever mention anything about them?"

Iwaizumi tried to remember. "I think he said that they 'weren't exactly' dead. What he meant by that, I have no idea." 

Akaashi sighed under his breath. "Suitably vague, as always." He glanced up at Iwaizumi. "I do not trust him like you do, but I don't believe he is to be distrusted as fiercely as the others think."

"Then why didn't you take my side against them?" Iwaizumi argued, and Akaashi exhaled, folding his hands behind his back. 

"It unsettles me how I can't tell how he's feeling," Akaashi confessed. "Perhaps more than it should. I can't sense if he's being truthful or not, and I'm not putting the whole organisation at risk so one man can feel included."

"It's more than that," Iwaizumi snapped out. "They're calling him skut - at least stand up against that! That's Osole speak, magicker-hater slurs, we don't do that here!"

"Iwaizumi-san, please keep your voice down," Akaashi instructed, so calm and unruffled it only pissed off Iwaizumi more. But, knowing Akaashi was right, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. 

"I know things have changed in the last five years. But we can't become like them. Atsumu might be influenced by his brother, but we can't be." Iwaizumi opened his eyes, and Akaashi was regarding him, a swirling analysis in his gaze. 

"I understand," Akaashi said quietly. "I want to protect Bokuto-san. But the needs of the kingdom, the stability of the ordinary people, must come first. And that requires us to have a force greater than our own, although I pray it never comes to outright war. There are still other ways to remove her from the castle."

Iwaizumi's nails bit into his palms. "Atsumu's contingency plan can go and fuck itself."

"You are welcome to vote against it," Akaashi said. "But I ask you to consider the impact of us failing would have on the whole country. I know that falling in love can be consuming, but we have to maintain a broader perspective. Atsumu-san may be blunt and rough in his methods, but he knows what he's doing."

Iwaizumi's chest deflated. "I… I know. It's what I swore to do when I joined you."

Stepping forwards, Akaashi gripped Iwaizumi's shoulders. "I will understand, whatever you decide."

Nodding, Iwaizumi pressed his lips together. He felt like he'd just been punched in the chest repeatedly. Conversations with Akaashi tended to go that way. 

At the very least, Akaashi had confirmed what Iwaizumi had already known. 

Back in his room, Iwaizumi poured a bath for himself, watching the steam curl up the metal sides as he chucked in the buckets of boiling water. He remembered how easily they were cut off. How simple it had been to overwhelm them. How they threw the blame on Oikawa carelessly, thoughtlessly, when it should all be on him. What sort of leader was he? One that disappeared for five years on a mission he failed at, and then led them into an ambush? Daichi wouldn't be captured if he had done his damn job and kept the heir safe. He never learned. He always protected the one he loved, even at the expense of others. If he had stuck with the others, maybe they could’ve repelled the ambush. Maybe Ennoshita wouldn’t have been injured, maybe Daichi would’ve been able to break loose, maybe they’d have held onto the heir. 

He'd fucked up the mission by going back after Oikawa, and then fucked up that relationship, too. He couldn't do anything right. Iwaizumi stepped into the bath, the scalding heat doing nothing to relax him.

And Oikawa (maybe) being the son of a deity, something that was there all along? Oikawa hadn't told him, and that hurt Iwaizumi more than it should. Oikawa had the right to keep things to himself, but didn't he… didn't he trust him? Iwaizumi inhaled shakily, grabbing at the side of the tub.

He shouldn't even be thinking about it. There were more urgent matters at hand than Iwaizumi's feelings. 

Iwaizumi dipped his head down below the surface, his tears mixing with water and ink.

Iwaizumi rubbed his eyes, hoping they didn’t look swollen. His reflection in the water told him differently. His thoughts hadn't left him, and he suspected that he might go insane if he was locked away in his room any more. He had to do something, go somewhere, fix this somehow. It was his fault, his burden to solve. 

His hands felt sweaty as he made his way to Yaku's forge, praying that nobody else would be there. Iwaizumi had never knocked before, and he was lifting his fist before remembering that Yaku hated knocking, that he claimed it interrupted his concentration. So Iwaizumi turned the handle and slunk in, eyes instantly seeking out Yaku's bent-over back. He was standing over his low workbench, the stool behind him unused. 

"Oi, Yaku." Even though Iwaizumi spoke lowly, Yaku's small body jerked to the side, straightening up hastily. "Fucking hell, don't just come in like that."

"Ah." Iwaizumi blinked. Had only five years really eroded his memory that much? "Sorry."

Yaku shook his head, picking back up what he was doing, deburring the edges of a thin metal plate as he talked. "From the look on your face, I don't assume that this is a social visit? Despite not seeing each other for five years?"

"How can we chat when Daichi's captured?" Iwaizumi asked, and Yaku bit his lower lip, his hands stilling. Then he curled off the stray pieces of metal with a particularly harsh stroke, grating on Iwaizumi's ears. 

"Sit down," Yaku instructed him, gesturing to a bench deeper into the room. "I'll be with you in a minute." 

Iwaizumi did as he asked, waiting for Yaku to finish his job. The repetitive sound of his metal tool scraping, vicious and low, did nothing to soothe the awful, pounding pressure in Iwaizumi's chest. It seemed to cling onto his lungs, restricting his breathing with iron guilt. 

"So," Yaku started, dragging a stool over one-handed to sit across from Iwaizumi. "What's the deal?"

His eyes were earnest, dark and golden just like the gears adorning the walls. Iwaizumi dropped his gaze downwards. "I'm sorry to be asking you this, but can you step up as co-leader again?"

Yaku’s eyebrows shot up. "The fuck are you asking me that for? Do you've somewhere else to be?"

"I don't feel capable of handling this," Iwaizumi admitted, and it felt good, to finally say it out loud. "I don't know how to plan ahead. All I know how to handle is what's in front of me."

"That's what makes you a good leader," Yaku told him. "You don't get strung up in the possibilities - you deal with whatever happens. You move forwards, focusing on the now, and you don't dwell on what you should've done. You speak as if it's a weakness, you imbecile."

Hanging his head, Iwaizumi combed his hands back through his hair. "In this case, it is. She's not straightforward. I can't fight someone like her. I don't know how." He lifted his head. "I'm going to step down. Atsumu would be a good choice, if you don't want to volunteer. He has more foresight than me, and he'll know what he'd do in her situation, which is probably close to what she'll do." 

He sighed. "Daichi would know what to do."

"Fucking hell," Yaku muttered. "Since when were you such a self-conscious cunt?"

Iwaizumi dropped his head back down into his arms. "Since I fucked everything up. It's not being self-conscious if I have evidence, Yaku. I allowed a revolt to happen, then practically gave her the heir, came back after five years with a magicker, left the others during the raid to go after said magicker, and Daichi and the heir got captured because of it. Because of me."

"Like one more person could've prevented that ambush?" Yaku's voice curdled with scorn. "You think too highly of yourself and too low at the same time. You died protecting the heir - hell, I don't think anyone could ask more of you than that."

"I didn't have my sword on me." Iwaizumi's tone felt heavy in his throat, knocking against his teeth. "I was distracted -"

"By Oikawa?" Yaku guessed, and Iwaizumi's shoulders tensed up. He closed his hands over his head. "Yeah." 

"You value people, Iwaizumi. It isn't a fault."

"It is. I refuse to give up anyone I know for change, and that's not possible." Iwaizumi closed his eyes. "I don't deserve to co-lead anymore. I'll sacrifice people I don't know about, and yet put the cause in danger for someone I love. Ushijima was right. I'm a hypo-"

He felt a sharp pain on the top of his head, and he jerked upwards, hand lifting to cover it. "What the fuck?"

"Exactly," Yaku declared. "Get yourself together. We need strong leadership, not doubts. You know the Form, you know the kingdom, you know strategy, you have experience. You are a leader, Hajime, and you are our leader. So act like it. And for your sake, I won't tell the others about this."

Iwaizumi grimaced, his fingers whitening. "Yaku -"

"Call me Morisuke, like I keep telling you.” 

"- I don't share your faith in me."

"That doesn't matter. We all have faith in you."

Iwaizumi swallowed hard. "I know."

“So?” Yaku prompted. 

"I'll try my best," Iwaizumi filled in, and it sounded lame even to his own ears. 

Yaku sighed deeply. "Now is not the time to be falling apart, Hajime. Even you can see that. Be a leader out of necessity, if nothing else."

"That doesn't sound like good grounds for decisions. And it isn't as if there's nobody else - I'd only be taking a step back."

"When we need you most? I'm sure that's going to inspire confidence. If you can't handle this, who can?"

Iwaizumi wished he could answer him. 

Yaku sighed out into the silence. "Not exactly the most comforting answer, but at least you're not putting yourself down anymore. Here." He bent down, rifling through a chest, shoving stuff to the side with an intermittent clanking, and tossed some shimmering metal over his back. "Take that. I made it for Daichi, but it should fit you okay."

Catching the item in his arms, Iwaizumi frowned, grabbing the cool metal and holding it up. It looked like it should be much heavier than it actually was, with the interlacing threads of silvery fabric through darker shaded plating, leading to a sort of spiderweb pattern, repeated over and over. 

"Yes, yes, I know you don't like metal armour, but it'll suit you," Yaku scolded him. "Just put it on and it'll stop you getting killed better than that stupid leather shit you insist on wearing."

Iwaizumi's eyes traced across the shoulders, noting how smoothly it all linked together, how thinly the joints were knotted, and yet how lightweight it was. "I'll wear it. Thanks, Yaku -"

"Morisuke." Yaku grinned at him. "I'd have you carrying a shoulder-height shield too, but something tells me that that'd be pushing my luck for the day."

Iwaizumi smiled back. "Just slightly." 

He rolled up the armour, tucking it under his arm as he stood up. "Your shoulder height or mine? Because I might be fine with it if it's yours-"

He was cut off by Yaku digging his fingers in underneath his ribs, hard. 

"What did I say?"

"You know what you said, you rat. You're not subtle."

Iwaizumi let out his grin. “Maybe you’re just too sensitive. Reading into implications that aren’t there - ow, was that really necessary?” 

Bouncing on his feet, as if that would make him taller, Yaku nodded, far too enthusiastic for Iwaizumi's taste. "Absolutely, you rude man. Next time I'm shoving you in one of the furnaces. I can carry you -"

Iwaizumi snorted, and Yaku almost got him with a punch to the chest. "I can! Remember when it was Ushijima's birthday and Daichi bet against me and I did it, I got your stupid big feet off the ground -"

"Like a hair, yeah."

"It counts. Now, about the matter of your bet -"

Bickering with Yaku was a thankful relief.

Heading back to his room, Iwaizumi quickly tried on the armour, and discovered that Yaku had been right - the chains stretched over his chest, but not enough to bite into his skin, allowing him most movement, a little tight when he raised his arms, but Iwaizumi could live with that. The fact that Daichi should be wearing that same armour lodged into Iwaizumi's ribs, and he vowed, the instant they got Daichi back, it would be his. In the meantime, he'd use everything he had at his disposal to get him back. Stripping it off, Iwaizumi laid it on his bed, and no longer could stand the silence of his room. Unless he wanted to have another shameful crying session, it was time for him to move. There was some time left before the next gathering, he could...

Before he had registered where his feet were taking him, Iwaizumi found himself outside Oikawa's door. Again. He knew that he should probably leave him alone, but… Iwaizumi rubbed his upper arms, where Oikawa had gripped him. He could still feel the tender spots from his lithe fingers, and wouldn't be surprised if little bruises blossomed out from them later.

He knocked on the wood, quietly enough to not wake him if he was sleeping. 

"Come in," came Oikawa's voice. "It's open."

Iwaizumi pushed open the door, and he instantly held up a hand in front of his face, blocking the view of the bathtub to the side. "Oikawa, I think I'll-"

"It's fine." Oikawa's voice held his amusement. "You've seen me naked before, haven't you? You controlled yourself then, I think you can manage it now."

Behind his hand, Iwaizumi scowled. "There's no reason for me to have to control myself. You’re not that fucking good-looking.” 

"So there's no problem, is there?" 

Oikawa spoke lightly, and Iwaizumi could hear the water swish against the metal edges of the tub. He inhaled steam, and shut the door behind him. 

"No," he told Oikawa, lowering his hand. "I guess not."

Oikawa, head angled back, smiled at him, his bandaged arm propped up on the side, wrist dangling down so his fingertips trawled lazily through the cloudy water. The rest of his slender body slunk down the length of the tub, one knee bent, breaking the water’s swaying surface, and Iwaizumi ripped his eyes away. He moved to the bed, sitting on the side so only Oikawa's arm and shoulders were visible. 

"I didn't think you'd be the shy type," Oikawa teased, his hair flattening to the curve of his neck, his collarbones as he shifted, laying both of his arms on the side and placing his chin on top of his overlapped hands. He seemed to be in a better mood than earlier, which Iwaizumi was grateful for, but he still noticed the redness lurking at the corners of Oikawa's eyes, how his smile wavered just a fraction. 

"I'm not," Iwaizumi told him. "I'd just rather not look at your dick if I can help it."

Snickering, Oikawa tapped a finger against the metal, gaze soft. "You have my sympathy, Iwa-chan. I know my face is hard to look away from, but that's even truer for my dick. Anyways, other than to disturb my bath, why are you here?"

“I wanted to check on you,” Iwaizumi said softly, leaning forwards, elbows perched on his knees. “See if there’s anything I can do.” 

Oikawa shook his head. “You've done all you can.” 

His breath stuttered, something that didn't pass by Iwaizumi unnoticed.

“You know when you mentioned you could absorb a certain amount of emotional pain?” Iwaizumi asked. 

“Mm hm.”

“Can you do it in reverse?” 

Blinking, Oikawa drew a finger across the back of his hand. “Yes.” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes felt like wells. “Tell me what I have to do.”

Oikawa opened his arms. “It’s called a hug.”

Without hesitation, Iwaizumi knelt next to the tub and wrapped his arms around his back, pressing his face into the crook of Oikawa's neck. Oikawa's arms, lithe and strong, crossed over his back, closing them in together. Oikawa felt harder than Iwaizumi had imagined, his shoulders angular and sharp, his chest solid, but his heartbeat felt like it was only under a thin sheet of skin, and if it tried hard enough, it would burst through and dangle out of his chest like a ball on a cord. The image didn't help settle Iwaizumi's mind, and he held Oikawa closer, aware that water was soaking through to his skin, the edge of the tub biting into his lower stomach.

Swallowing, Iwaizumi pulled back. 

“Oikawa, I’m sorry for earlier, I really am. It was really bad timing on my part." 

"Don't worry about it." Oikawa tried to smile, one hand brushing his loosened hair behind his shoulder. "Your brain isn't big enough for that."

Iwaizumi tried to smile back. He had an idea that neither one succeeded, and he dropped his gaze, eyes stinging. 

Oikawa examined him. “Have you been crying?” 

“Not -“ the denial stuck in Iwaizumi’s throat. He swallowed thickly, turning his face away. "It's nothing."

He felt Oikawa's fingers lightly grasp his chin, upturning his face again, and saw his lips part, the air shimmering in front of his mouth.

"No," Iwaizumi said, jerking his face free. "No Breathing. I told you, it's nothing. I don't need it eased."

He wanted to feel it. He deserved it. 

Closing his mouth, Oikawa inclined his head, understanding etched deep in his eyes. Iwaizumi recalled his nightmare, his self-inflicted punishment for accidentally killing his apprentice. His mouth twisted into a grim smile. None of them could let their failures go, could they? 

As if sensing his despair, Oikawa leaned forwards again, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi's neck, his hands cradling the back of Iwaizumi’s head. He didn't say anything, and Iwaizumi appreciated that. He dared to press a kiss to the side of Oikawa's wet neck, and felt Oikawa's answering hum, low and content. With his nose this close to Oikawa's skin, Iwaizumi noticed that he smelled like… like… his mind scrambled for an answer, recalling it in the late days of spring, passing through a forest with patches of white flowers. Jasmine. Jasmine, that was it. Oikawa's skin felt cool, smooth, as if he was only skin stretched out over marble, his strong fingers lacing through Iwaizumi's hair. 

Balancing his arms on the tub's edge, Iwaizumi's own hands dipped down halfway into the water, feeling the warmth of the liquid relax his tense fingers. Slowly, he drew his hands closer to Oikawa's torso, and he felt Oikawa shiver next to him as their bare skin made contact. Iwaizumi's heart was hammering so hard that he feared his ribcage might fracture, certain Oikawa could feel the hotness of his cheek on his neck. He skimmed his fingers up Oikawa's sides to rest just under his shoulderblades, marvelling at how he could feel Oikawa's Breathing scars, the tiny lines of raised skin interwoven across his back. 

Oikawa shivered again, and Iwaizumi drew back, fearful of pushing his boundaries. 

"Do they hurt?" he asked, and his voice came out rough, as if he hadn't spoken in days. He cleared his throat, sitting back on his ankles. 

Blinking, Oikawa twisted back around to lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Not anymore." 

His hand drifted up to the side of his neck, and Iwaizumi realised that the scar Yahaba gave him was reduced. “How….”

“She healed me, remember?”

“Ah. Yeah.”

Oikawa started to lift himself up out of the bath, water streaming from his upper body. Getting to his feet, Iwaizumi backed away, and Oikawa's laugh followed him. 

"I'm not that hideous to look at, am I?"

Iwaizumi directed his gaze to the side, staring stubbornly out of the window, one hand covering the corner of his eye. "Just get dressed, you bastard." 

Thankfully, Oikawa's clothes were laid out nearby, drying off in a cloth and donning them quickly. Iwaizumi lowered his hand, and Oikawa, one hand cocked on his hip, was gazing at him, eyes narrowed in thought. 

"You really are too hung up on rules, you know that?" 

"Yeah, the rule of not having my eyes burned out."

"Excuse you, I am _beautiful_."

"Something had to balance out your personality," Iwaizumi muttered out. 

He still felt unbalanced from the moment they’d shared, his fingers vying for the sensation of Oikawa’s water-softened skin. Running his hands over the ridges on his back had felt… too intimate. 

“If both sides of the scale are heavy, then it’s balanced,” Oikawa announced. “Lots of looks, lots of personality. Perfect, right?”

Iwaizumi barely heard him, his fists curling up by his sides. Stop. He should know better, know that he would always put someone close to him above others, know that he’d stake a greater cause. That’s why he hadn’t actively pursued Oikawa, hadn’t kissed him by the lake. All to preserve the greater cause. All to distance himself, that if it came down to it, he could make the choice to sacrifice Oikawa to save hundreds. 

He’d done a piss poor job of it. 

Oikawa cleared his throat. “I like being the centre of attention, so whatever you’re going through is gonna have to wait, okay?” 

“Do you think it’s better,” Iwaizumi said suddenly. “To kill someone to save others, or not kill at all? Are those people’s deaths your fault if you could’ve saved them? Or are they not, because you’re not the one taking their lives?” 

“Um… are you okay?” Oikawa squinted at him. “When are you in a situation like that?” 

“More often than you’d think.” Iwaizumi took a breath. “That's why Ushijima broke up with me. I had a choice, to save him or many others, and I chose him. I didn't think things through properly - I just acted."

"He broke up with you?"

"He said we had conflicting ideologies, that I didn't value the logical choice. Apparently it was too big of a gap for him to overlook.” 

"By the gods," Oikawa muttered. "If you two thickheads had conflicting ideologies, what do we have?"

Iwaizumi smiled at him. "I think we're more similar than you think. You did save that guard, after all."

"And what an excellent idea that was."

Iwaizumi felt his smile drop. "Yeah…" 

“I almost died from that, you know,” Oikawa mentioned, and his palm pressed over his shirt, where he’d been stabbed. The sleeve of his stark white shirt was ripped, brown bloodstains splattered on the edges. “And yet…” 

He sat down on the bed's edge, shoulders curving into his body. "It doesn't matter. Plenty of people have tried to kill me before. They really must feel threatened by my presence."

Iwaizumi felt a tug of sympathy, and he made his way to settle beside Oikawa, who didn't shift his gaze, tangling and untangling his fingers together methodically in his lap. 

"We will make things better," Iwaizumi promised, and he saw Oikawa's fingers tighten around each other. "For everyone, but especially magickers."

"Iwa-chan, how?"

"I'm not good with politics," Iwaizumi admitted. "But I trust the others. Akaashi and Kenma will come up with something, I'm sure."

Oikawa exhaled, a breath that felt rough against Iwaizumi's ears, and rubbed at the corner of his eye. "I want to believe you, I do." His teeth caught on the side of his lower lip. "But your own organisation excludes magickers. Forgive me, but how am I supposed to trust people who constructed their own exclusionist society to improve things for the people they discriminate against? It may not occur to you, Iwa-chan, but it has to sink into your thick head eventually that that doesn't make a good basis for a fair ruling system."

There was a strength returning to his voice, one that made Iwaizumi equal parts glad and tentative. Iwaizumi shifted on the bed so he was fully facing Oikawa, one leg slung over the edge and the other one bent, its ankle resting on his opposite knee. "We're changing," he told Oikawa. "People like that dickhead Atsumu are in the minority, I swear to you."

He tried to make eye contact, but Oikawa wasn't looking at him. He had his sleeve pushed up, and he was tracing the outline of his Breathing scars, his right wrist still swathed in the bandages Iwaizumi had given him a few days ago.

"Maybe so," he replied, and once again Iwaizumi felt the disconnect, the distance in Oikawa's tone. Reaching forwards, Iwaizumi rested a hand on Oikawa’s wrist, the texture of the bandages harsh.

“Not maybe,” he assured him. “They are. The rules this organization was founded on are outdated.” 

Oikawa made to move his arm, and Iwaizumi let him, let his wrist slip out from under his fingers. Not glancing up, Oikawa unwrapped the bandages from the ferqol attack. His skin was perfect, no sign of any wound. Iwaizumi’s chest sunk. She had healed him completely, something Iwaizumi wasn’t able to do.

“And what are you doing to change that?”

“I got you onto the council meetings, didn’t I? After the kingdom is stable again -“

Oikawa was shaking his head. “You don’t get it. Things need to be changed before the kingdom is stabilised. Kae is trying to -“ 

“Kae? Who the fuck is Kae?” 

“The woman leading Aecus.”

“Why would you ever even consider what she said? She’s a murderer.” 

Oikawa's eyes burned into his. "You've killed just as many as her, if not more. At least she did it for a purpose. What have you done?"

Iwaizumi struggled with his next breath, as if he had just been struck in the stomach. "I've protected the kingdom," he said faintly, and Oikawa's brow creased.

"Against what?"

"Bandits… and magickers," Iwaizumi whispered out, then he gritted his teeth. "I know what you're thinking - I know you think I've murdered people for no reason, but they were killing ordinary people, who turned to the king for help," he explained, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. "I never killed anyone for no reason."

Oikawa squeezed his eyes shut. "And what do you think made them destructive in the first place?"

Iwaizumi fell silent. "Maybe they're right to think that white makes people unstable -"

"Iwaizumi!" Oikawa snapped out, his face scrunched up. "Are you dense? Are you actually fucking stupid? That's not it, and you know that! Are you trying to justify those deaths to yourself? Are you trying to pretend that people wouldn't accuse magickers of crimes just so the king's guard would come and get rid of them? Are you wilfully blind to that?"

Iwaizumi stood. "I'm not going to sit here and be abused," he gritted out. "I did everything in my best judgement at the time, and if you have a problem with that, then maybe you shouldn't be here."

Oikawa's expression twisted, his upper lip curving back with disdain, nose crinkling up. "It finally looks like you're right about something. It's your fault, for bringing me here in the first place." 

"Because I thought you had the best interests at heart for the kingdom!" Iwaizumi insisted. "And now you'd rather throw the kingdom into chaos over doing your duty?"

"I have done my duty! You know those little lands to the West called the Westlands? Those ikol lords would have invaded Katachi years ago if it wasn't for my negotiations! That's a lot more effective than you slaughtering people who didn't deserve it-"

"And you think those lords stayed quiet during your negotiations? It was us who defended the border, who allowed you to show a measure of strength so they didn't just attack and wipe all of us out!"

"That was only a small part of what you did!" Oikawa shot back, voice sharp. "You used to-"

"I can't change what I did!" Iwaizumi told him, his throat feeling raw, voice tense, risen. "You can say what you want about my past, but at least I didn't let -"

He cut himself off, but Oikawa's eyes were dark.

"At least I didn't let a friend die?" Oikawa suggested, soft, dangerous. "Is that what you were about to say?"

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw shut, feeling the pressure in his temple. He should know better. It was childish to bring up the past in arguments, but Oikawa had done it first. Although there was a difference between bringing up continuous choices made in his twenties, rather than one decision made as a scared thirteen year old with a tenuous grasp on his powers. It was low, and Iwaizumi wished it hadn't even crossed his mind. 

He stepped back, Oikawa's gaze stalking him.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa addressed him, in that highly regulated tone Iwaizumi hated. He would've preferred if Oikawa was shouting at him, losing his composure, but Oikawa wouldn't break like that. Oikawa may be petty and snide and critical but he was controlled, always controlled, and Iwaizumi envied that more than he could take. 

Oikawa stood up also, his height advantage only becoming more apparent as he approached. Iwaizumi's fingers curled up into fists. Oikawa stopped in front of him, his toes only barely short of grazing Iwaizumi's. Iwaizumi tilted his face upwards. 

"What?"

"I meant everything I said," Oikawa told him. "Think about it. You can manage that much, can't you?"

Oikawa's eyes had never reminded him of copper so much before, metallic, cold, hard. Despite himself - despite being a fucking fully grown adult man - Iwaizumi felt small. His nails stung against his skin, sinking deep into the rough fleshy palms. 

He couldn't think of anything to say. The door reverberated on its hinges behind him, echoing through his ribcage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) I am a little sorry, but if I included the resolution in this chapter it would be,, way too long. And this way I'll be able to stick to my schedule!  
> my twitter is @spikyiwaizumi if you want to scream about iwa or writing with me, that's basically all I do.  
> I hope you enjoyed reading, and I'll see you all in ten days!


	13. Fractures into Chasms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Tooru!! And Furudate... I am so grateful they wrote hq, it's been a source of inspiration to me these past five years, and I just... can't believe it's over.  
> Thank you, Furudate.  
> Anyways, my dear readers, hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> AND I MADE A MAP TOO HERE  
> 

Iwaizumi headed straight to the training room. He needed to let off some - a lot - of steam. 

"Fuck," he said, stalking towards the weapons rack. His voice pounded against his ears, the walls still not strong enough to vent his utter frustration. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

He grabbed a merk and flung it straight into the wooden wall opposite, where it struck with a thud, quivering. He took a breath, watching as the vibrations of the end slowly ceased. He couldn't refute the points Oikawa made. Making to reach for the next weapon, as soon as his fingertips brushed the shaft, it dissolved into a little pile of ash, and Iwaizumi clenched his fist around nothing. Now? Of all times, now? He could feel the power behind his eyes, squirming underneath his skin, gnawing at his bones to be let out. 

Forcing himself to unfurl his fists, Iwaizumi tried to recall the exercises Oikawa had taught him, but that made him think of Oikawa, his cold eyes, controlled poise, and how he hadn't even given an indication that he wanted to kiss Iwaizumi back and how despite everything Iwaizumi still wanted to hold him and promise that they'd figure everything out. 

He felt an air current rush through his hair, and he grit his teeth. Breathe. The weapon rack began shuddering, the metal tops clanking together, and Iwaizumi squeezed his eyes closed, knowing that the noise would draw attention. A hotness scorched in his eyes, flashing from temple to temple, and he struggled to focus, concentrate on beating back the wave vying to be freed. It rose, and Iwaizumi couldn't hold his concentration enough to stay on his feet, folding over to his knees, pressing his hands to the sides of his head as if to physically keep it in he needed to keep it in keep it inkeepitin-

He heard a crack behind him, and Iwaizumi clenched his fists, feeling his consciousness waver. He wasn't going to let it take over him. Not this time. His determination only seemed to fuel the wind, whipping against the walls with a newfound intensity, and Iwaizumi prayed that he wouldn't disintegrate them. Oikawa wasn't here to bail him out this time. The thought of Oikawa spiked another increase in the wind, and Iwaizumi could hear it swirling around his ears, shoving air in a circle, ever-extending. No. No, he needed to grasp his emotions, calm them. Control. 

They weren't cooperating. A judder rocked through Iwaizumi, and he fought to curb his panic closing over his throat, the scalding iron through his temples. 

Someone dropped down to their knees beside him, a hand on his shoulder. "Hajime-san, listen to me."

Akaashi's voice, calm and levelling.

Iwaizumi felt his anger cooling away, as if water was being poured over him, letting his power contract away from his skin, sinking back down into himself with a quiet hum. It was like being sung a lullaby, his frustration leaking away without a sound of protest. He gasped, quivering as his power reluctantly withdrew, leaving his body feeling lifeless. He slumped, and an arm rounded his shoulder, preventing him from collapsing on his side. 

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah… I'll just need a quick rest." Iwaizumi's eyes darted upwards to the figure he hadn't noticed before, standing just a little bit in front of him. Kenma. "Uh…"

"Kenma saw you struggling, and came and got me," Akaashi supplied. 

"Ah." Iwaizumi’s hand ringed the back of his neck. 

Akaashi's eyebrows were knitted together as he regarded Iwaizumi, clearly anticipating an explanation. Iwaizumi glanced away, breathing hard, shame flooding over him. 

"No other explanation?" Akaashi said, and Iwaizumi rubbed a hand over his face. "No. You saw what you saw."

"You didn't know?" Kenma queried, gaze drifting over to Akaashi.

"You knew already?" Akaashi asked Kenma, who inclined his head forwards, hair shifting down across his cheeks. "How?"

"The ink in his hair dries out sometimes, and the dust settles on his temples."

Akaashi's eyes wandered upwards, to Iwaizumi's forehead, and his eyes narrowed, putting the pieces together. "That's hardly proof of him being a magicker."

Kenma shrugged, as if there was nothing more to say. Iwaizumi eyed him - out of all of the powers the Lady granted them, Kenma had said the least about his. He knew he was exceptionally perceptive, especially when it came to magickers, and could draw conclusions from the tiniest of details adding up together, but he had never defined what limitations there were. 

"Regardless, what I just saw was."

There was an edge of regret in Akaashi's voice, a soft sense of disappointment. He withdrew his arm from Iwaizumi's shoulders, making to stand up.

"Akaashi…" Iwaizumi took a breath, gripping his forearms, stopping his movement. "Please. The Form can't collapse at a time like this. I will confront any consequences of my actions later, I swear."

"The Form is built on trust and the rules," Akaashi told him. "You and Kenma-san withheld a secret from us-"

"Like how you didn't tell anyone that you were seeing Bokuto?" Iwaizumi cut in, and something grazed across Akaashi's expression, a slight parting of his elegant mouth. 

"That was different." Akaashi spoke careful and low, gazing down at Iwaizumi's hold on his arms. "But… I admit that my view of magickers has changed since I joined." He exhaled. "I will keep your secret for now, because it isn't the time for our leadership to be doubted. But afterwards…"

He lifted his stare, and Iwaizumi nodded, letting go of him. "I understand. Thanks, Akaashi."

"Don't thank me. It's only until we don't have more important things to consider."

Akaashi stood up, green eyes combing the room, and headed towards the doorway.

"You're lucky he met Bokuto," Kenma muttered, and Iwaizumi nodded his agreement. The Akaashi before he left five years ago would've turned Iwaizumi in for trial, for deceiving them for so long, for hiding his true nature. 

“What happened?” Iwaizumi asked, keeping his voice low.

“Nothing in particular,” Kenma answered. “He started going to Flightless more, I guess. With Daichi gone, he was Suga’s correspondent here.” 

Oikawa rounded the door, his hair still wet, eyes wide. "Iwaizumi, I felt power - what happened?"

"I… lost control." Iwaizumi couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Again."

Kenma's eyes twitched at his last word. 

"He's alright," Akaashi told Oikawa, who smoothed out his expression. 

"Then there's no need for me to be here, is there?" 

Iwaizumi saw Akaashi's gaze trace Oikawa as he flaunted off, and it comforted him little, to know that nobody could make sense of what Oikawa was feeling, not even the emotion-reader. He lifted his heavy head to look around. The crack he'd heard earlier was the whole target wall disintegrating, fissures evident in the structure. 

Akaashi sighed, following his gaze. "We'll say it was a new weapon Yaku wanted to test out." 

"One with the exact same pattern that Fracturers leave?" Iwaizumi questioned.

"It's not unusual," Kenma said. "Somebody being thrown against it would leave the same damage."

“Hajime-san and I were sparring then, and he slammed me a little too hard against the wall?” Akaashi suggested. 

Kenma shook his head. “Nobody will believe that Hajime sparred that roughly with you.” 

"I'll say I lost my temper if anyone asks," Iwaizumi inputted, gazing at the wall. "It's the truth, anyway. Just that maybe I struck the target a bit too hard in anger." 

Giving a quiet sigh, Akaashi inclined his head. "It doesn't matter what story we come up with. Everyone else is too focused on our circumstances to care much, and it's only temporary, after all." 

He glanced back at Iwaizumi, as if expecting a refute. Iwaizumi gave him none, only a slight nod, and Akaashi swept out of the room. 

As Iwaizumi straightened up, his head spun, and he stumbled forwards a little, cursing himself, cursing the weakness that always followed his wave of power. Kenma stared at him, then huffed out an exhale. 

"I can't believe you managed to keep it secret for so long. You're bad at lying."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Iwaizumi questioned, and Kenma shrugged. "Why would I?"

"It's against the rules for a magicker to join."

Kenma's face said it all, his nose creased and his eyes flattened out. "Eh." 

Iwaizumi suppressed a smile. "In any case, thank you." 

"You didn't avoid anything." Kenma upturned his face, and his gaze looked like he was watching the night fall outside, not the plain, packed dirt of the ceiling. "There are still going to be consequences"

Lowering his gaze to the ground, Iwaizumi nodded. "I know. But I'm thankful they were delayed this long, even if it makes them worse. I wouldn't give up my time here if I had to choose again."

He brushed off the dirt on his shins, remembering the council gathering he had to go to. The one that had sparked the argument between him and Oikawa.

"What caused you to go like that?" Kenma asked point-blank, and Iwaizumi pulled his mouth down into a grimace. "Ah… Oikawa and I had a fight."

"About how magickers are treated, or your relationship?"

"Um…" Iwaizumi never quite got used to Kenma's accuracy. "Magickers."

"He has a fair point."

"I know."

Iwaizumi stayed there a trok, Oikawa's words balancing out in his mind, carving themselves into his memory. Kenma's fingers clicked around the puzzle he produced from his pocket, loud and piercing in the room's silence. 

Sighing, Iwaizumi bade Kenma farewell and left for the gathering.

  
  


“We need to bargain with her.”

“With what? We only have our allegiance to give, and I doubt she wants that any more.” 

“We have some useful magickers in Flightless -“

“We aren’t trading people who aren’t even here for Daichi’s safety.” 

“If we don’t have a bargaining tool,” Iwaizumi said, “then we’ll get one.” His finger traced across to the Westlands. “She confirmed with Sugawara that she intends to meet with some lords soon. If we can narrow down the day, we might be able to capture one of them. She invited them here, she bears responsibility if anything happens - and in addition, no other ones will want to step foot in Katachi and risk their safety.” 

“They mightn’t come in person. They’ll just send delegates.” 

“That might work too. Either way, we’ll be able to conduct our own negotiations.” 

An eyebrow was raised. “Forced negotiations?”

“No better than what she’s doing. Sugawara said that…” Iwaizumi trailed off, a thought coming to him. "Has anyone sent a messenger to Sugawara yet?"

Nobody met his eyes. 

“I know it’s shameful to admit that we failed, but we have to let him know that Daichi isn’t coming back," Iwaizumi said softly. 

“We failed?” Atsumu muttered. “ _We_ all did our jobs. _We_ all stuck to the plan.” 

Akaashi cleared his throat. “I’ll make sure to send a messenger later today.” 

"Thanks, Akaashi," Iwaizumi told him lowly. 

There was a pause, as if Daichi was going to fill it in with a reassuring word, or advice. His absence ached, his chair untouched. Atsumu sighed, too loud. The room seemed emptier, wider, colder without Daichi at Iwaizumi's elbow, gently nudging him towards a polished, finished strategy. 

Clenching his teeth, Iwaizumi spoke on. 

  
  


"Hey."

Ushijima lifted his head, examining Iwaizumi as if he was out of place. "Hello, Iwaizumi."

"I know you're wondering why I'm here," Iwaizumi began, and Ushijima inclined his head. Iwaizumi shut the door behind him, but didn't stray further into Ushijima's plain, utilitarian room, resting his back against the wood. "I need your opinion on my leadership."

Yaku was brutally honest, but he hadn't been out on the border patrols, on the missions, the king's personal escort. He didn't fully understand the extent of Iwaizumi's role, what was at stake if he fucked it up even more. Ushijima did. 

Akaashi had been the source of countless assurance over the years Iwaizumi had been away, blessing The Lady’s gift of communication between them as they spoke long into the night. But Iwaizumi didn’t seek reassurance, only truth. 

"Why?" Ushijima's long eyelashes cast shadows across his cheeks as he blinked, lasting for only a flicker of a breath. Iwaizumi pushed his old memories, becoming scarily clear, aside. 

"I'm not sure that I'm the right man to lead us anymore," he explained, and he exhaled, knocking the back of his head against the door, staring upwards. He could feel Ushijima's eyes wait for more, but a knot rose in his throat, Atsumu's words choking him out.

_We all did our jobs._

"You know where I stand on your ideology of the single over the whole," Ushijima began. "And I have come to see the merit in it after five years."

Iwaizumi blinked. Had it really been that long since they'd broken up? It felt like longer. 

"I still think you should trust the person, if they are strong enough, that they will make it out of the situation themselves. You try to save everyone, and everyone doesn't need it."

His words were calm and deep. Iwaizumi inhaled slowly, closing his eyes, locking his hands together. 

"I just want to make sure everyone's okay," he said lamely. "But I should've been there when Daichi was captured. I should've…"

"Left Oikawa?"

"I.. I don't know. I don't know if he would've come back here otherwise."

Ushijima was silent for a moment. "If you were there with us, you would've died."

Opening his eyes, Iwaizumi dropped his gaze, frowning at Ushijima. His expression held no malice, only the quiet crease of thoughtfulness across his brow. "What do you mean?"

"You wouldn't have let Daichi go," Ushijima told him. "You wouldn't have left them drag him away, despite their numbers. We were weaker, and it would have been senseless to keep fighting. But you would have." 

Iwaizumi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You don't know that for sure."

"I do know that that possibility was very likely. As for whether that trait makes you a wise leader or a reckless one, I cannot tell."

His earnestness, the way he sat quietly with his hands folded in his lap, was somewhat comforting. There was no subtext for Iwaizumi to wrack his head over. Ushijima just was. 

Iwaizumi dipped his head. "Thank you for your opinion." After a moment, he also upturned his forearms, to which Ushijima raised a hand. "Not necessary."

Lowering his arms again, Iwaizumi nodded, straightening up, away from the door. "I'll leave you be, then."

"You will make the best choice, Hajime," Ushijima told him. "Perhaps not the right one, but the best one."

Iwaizumi's hand pressed against his forehead, fingers squeezing in on the far corners of his eyes. "Yeah… yeah. I hope so."

“One more thing.” 

Iwaizumi’s gaze returned to Ushijima. “Hm?” 

“You said before you left that you’d stay in contact with me.” 

Fighting off a wince, Iwaizumi swallowed, his fingers clenching around the handle. “Right…” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I - I needed some time.” 

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t store your memories the way I did.” His voice, logical, was once comforting to Iwaizumi. “Without them, there would be nothing complicating our professional relationship.”

“I just…” Iwaizumi’s fingers twitched around metal. “It was good, what we had. I know you don’t remember it, but it was.” His voice weakened. “And after we broke up, you just… acted like none of it mattered at all. You reverted back to the person you were before us, and I just… couldn’t stop myself from feeling hurt.”

“I am sorry I caused you distress, but you could’ve done the same thing as I did.” 

“I know, but I prefer to hold onto everything. So I don’t make the same mistakes again.”

“You still went after Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi had no answer to that. 

“I don’t believe that you can change your nature just because you wish it was different.” 

Iwaizumi swallowed. Sometimes Ushijima didn’t know when to stop. 

“I’m gonna go,” Iwaizumi told him, opening the door. “Thanks for the advice.” 

He knew he was coming off sharp and abrupt, even to Ushijima, but he couldn’t stay there, couldn’t stand the acid rotting his guts spread any more. 

A knock came on Ushijima’s door. 

Ushijima looked up. He was getting a lot of visitors today. Iwaizumi had been acting strange, but he figured that maybe Oikawa or Daichi’s absence had affected him. 

“Come in.” 

To Ushijima’s surprise, the Breather Oikawa slunk around the door. He looked like he was holding something that tasted very unpleasant in his mouth. Ushijima briefly wondered what it was. He couldn't recall any food here tasting that badly. 

He glanced around and realised he only had one chair, so he stood up, gesturing Oikawa to his vacant seat. "Please, sit down."

Oikawa shook his head. He looked much the same as he did while dating Eita - perhaps with shorter hair (if he was recalling correctly, it used to be almost waist length), a little more downtrodden shoulders. "No thanks. I'd rather stand. I don't intend to spend that much time in your presence."

Nodding, Ushijima sat again, resting his hands on his thighs. "What do you need?"

“You know Iwaizumi, yeah?” 

Ushijima blinked. Why was Oikawa asking him such an obvious question? His confusion must've shown on his face, because Oikawa sighed, shutting the door with his foot. "You know. Like, better than the rest of them."

"About the same amount. I knew him after Daichi did, though."

This answer didn't seem to please Oikawa, whose face creased, his lips furling back. "Well, Daichi isn't here right now, and although you did that weird thing where you got rid of your memories there's still what you had before that."

"Correct. Is there something in particular you want to know?"

Oikawa shifted his weight, sucking in the sides of his cheeks. “Well, that’s a fair question coming from a bastard like you.”

Ushijima wasn’t quite sure what he did to offend Oikawa, but Oikawa was acting even more vague and evasive than he had in the past. He didn’t like that. Maybe Iwaizumi would know how to handle this...

Ushijima’s hand crept towards his opposite arm, and Oikawa threw out a hand, his eyes widening. 

“No! He doesn’t have to be here, it’s not that important," he babbled, swallowing. "It's really fine, if you're uncomfortable I can go -"

Ushijima thought that Oikawa might go on forever if he didn't speak across him. 

“I was just going to check his whereabouts," he explained. "If you want to speak about Iwaizumi, it might be best if he was present -"

“He doesn’t…" Oikawa looked down, scuffing his boot against the floor. "I don’t want him to know I’m here, okay?” 

“Why?”

“You’re really gonna drag this out of me, aren’t you?" Oikawa sighed, dipping his face to drag a hand back through his brown hair. It shone a little, even in the dull light. 

"I don't wish to drag anything out of you. I just want to know."

"Iwa-chan and I are having a bit of a disagreement of sorts. So it would be a little awkward if you called him in here, if that wasn't clear to you." 

“About what?"

“Well, you’re going to have to stay confused about that. I came here because I want to know why you and Iwa-chan split.” Oikawa's mouth pursed up. "Because… you guys seem to have an understanding. Like, the dumb type of muscular ikol-brained men have. Obviously I can't grasp it, but it just left me wondering why you broke up with him."

“That’s all?” Ushijima supposed it would be awkward for Oikawa to ask Iwaizumi if they were having a disagreement. 

“For now.” 

“He didn’t have the same approach I did. We disagreed on vital things that came up in our line of work, and it turned out to be too big of an issue to bridge over. Especially after a certain incident.”

Ushijima didn't continue, but Oikawa seemed to be waiting for something. Had he not explained it sufficiently?

"And?" Oikawa prompted. "You're just as damn vague as Iwaizumi was."

"I don't think the council would approve of me telling you our history."

"Fuck the council and this goddamn secrecy," Oikawa swore. His voice was hard as stone. "I'm going to find out one way or the other, so just tell me."

"I don't think -"

"Please."

Something in Oikawa's voice made Ushijima pause his refusal. It was his personal business, and the battle common knowledge - however, the details were kept secret. It was to deflect blame from Torem and the Form, but Oikawa already knew about both. Ushijima made his choice.

"Do you remember the massacre that happened five years ago, on the Western border?"

"Of course," Oikawa spoke fast, as if impatient. "That was the event that prompted Torem to send me to arrange the peace treaty. Tell me something new."

"We had forewarning, but not enough time for the king to mobilise his entire guard. So we, meaning myself, Iwaizumi, and a few others, were sent to eliminate as many as possible, to prevent them from murdering villagers. It was supposed to be a stealth mission."

"Yeah, yeah," Oikawa waved a hand. "A slit-their-throats-in-the-night sort of shit, I get it. What happened?"

"I was careless," Ushijima stated. His chest constricted, recalling his overconfidence. "I was captured by a scout. And rather than giving the archer the order to shoot, Iwaizumi hesitated. The scout raised the alarm, and although we managed to take down a few of their number, we were forced to retreat under superior numbers. The day after, they wiped out that village."

"How did that lead to you two breaking up?" Oikawa tilted his head. "He saved your life."

"He should've ordered the archer to shoot, whether it would kill me too or not. I was careless, and the fault was on me," Ushijima stated. "I disapproved of his actions, so I ended things." 

“Would you have ordered the shot taken if Iwaizumi had been taken hostage?”

“Yes.” 

Oikawa exhaled. His breath sounded oddly loud. "I see."

"The village would've been safe then."

“It would.” Oikawa paused, as if rethinking his agreement. Then he shook his head, tightening his jaw. "You think he shouldn't have gone back for me."

"No, he shouldn't have." Ushijima explained. "But it turned out to be the right course of action."

Oikawa's nose creased up. “How so? I thought you’d be the one person to judge his decision.” 

“As I told him earlier, if he had stayed with us he would’ve been unable to leave Daichi behind. He never can allow himself to leave anyone, even for the sake of the mission.” Ushijima hesitated, wondering whether to say the next bit. "I believe his choices weigh heavily on him. Even going back for you."

Oikawa was quiet for a moment, and as Ushijima watched, his cheeks flushed redder, hands rubbing together. "Thanks for telling me," he said, and then straightened, lifting his chin. "But don't think that this means I still don't think that you're an absolute bastard, you're wrong."

"You are welcome to think what you want of me."

Oikawa blew out his cheeks. "You know what, this is why I hate you. Can't you even get a little angry?"

"I don't see any reason to."

Rolling his eyes, Oikawa stepped back. "Okay, suit yourself, emotionless bastard man. Byeee!" 

"Farewell," Ushijima replied, but Oikawa was already shutting the door behind him. He shut it firmly and properly clicked it back into place, which Ushijima appreciated. 

He turned back to his book. Strange man. 

Iwaizumi had retreated to his room afterwards. 

He had to think alone, but from the knock on his door, somebody hadn't read the vibes right. He waited a trok, lifting his gaze from his book to direct it towards the door, feeling the heat of the candle on his desk on the side of his cheek. Another knock came, and it looked like they weren't going away anytime soon. 

Heaving a sigh, he raised himself from his desk, scrubbing absently at the ink stains on his hands as he padded over to the door. Although he'd stripped off all of his light armour and weapons, the room still held an uncomfortable amount of heat, and as he opened the door, cool air rushed in. The temporary relief on his flushed face, however, was offset by who was standing there.

Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa, silent. 

Tilting his chin up, Oikawa narrowed his eyes down at him, and Iwaizumi felt defensiveness flare up in his stomach. 

"Are you here to start some more shit?"

Oikawa's gaze flickered away, and his hands snapped up into quick fists, over and over. Yet, he still spoke hard. “I came to apologise. Because you clearly couldn't handle what I said."

Iwaizumi grit his jaw, resisting the urge to shut the door in Oikawa’s face. "You are the worst diplomat I've ever come across."

Oikawa crossed his arms over his chest. Only he could make an apology feel like a hostage situation. "I apologise."

"That’s a pathetic fucking apology. Don't apologise unless you mean it," Iwaizumi told him, turning away, making to shut the door. "And I know you don't."

It hit something, and Iwaizumi glanced back to see Oikawa's boot jammed against the end.

"Fine. I'll apologise like you want me to." Oikawa's voice struck Iwaizumi's ears harshly, haughty and pompous. "But I'm only apologising for what I think might've been… harsh. Everything I said about this stupid cult and their system is true."

Iwaizumi’s jaw tensed. "Get on with it, then."

Oikawa's lips thinned out, and Iwaizumi stepped back, allowing Oikawa into his room. He shut the door behind him as Iwaizumi leaned back against his desk, loosely twining his arms over each other as he waited. 

"Well, take your time with it," he amended, his voice harder than he expected, but Oikawa showed no signs of being put off. He faced Iwaizumi square on, chin and voice lifted. 

"I'm sorry for belittling your past actions. I know you would've judged each situation accordingly, and wouldn't have killed unless you were forced to."

Blinking, Iwaizumi stilled, not expecting the earnestness cradled in Oikawa's words. Oikawa diverted his eyes, the side of his cheek hollowing out as he chewed the inside of it. 

"And I'm sorry for bringing up Watari," Iwaizumi answered quietly, sinking his gaze, shame filling his chest. "It was unfair of me."

As soon as he finished, it was if a collective breath was released by the room, the pressure of holding its breath gone. Iwaizumi unfolded his arms, letting his palms settle on the edge of the desk.

Holding his gaze, Oikawa nodded, his arms falling down by his sides. "Thank you for apologising."

"Same to you."

There was a silence. Oikawa played with his fingers, gaze lowered to the floor. 

"You're not seriously thinking of taking her side, are you?" Iwaizumi asked. "I know that things are bad for magickers, but we'll change that. We can. Tobio won't grow up with prejudices like Torem did."

Oikawa dropped his gaze, staring at his brown boots against the wooden floor. 

"No. She did murder you, after all."

Iwaizumi huffed out a laugh, hopping up on his desk. "Yeah. That's kind of a strike against her. Here, sit down."

He offered Oikawa his chair, pushing it out with his feet and Oikawa moved forwards, grasping the back. Iwaizumi tried not to notice how elegant his hands were, how certain his fingers curled around the wood. He was beginning to get a queasiness in his stomach, watching as Oikawa rounded the chair and sat down, pulling himself in. He directed a little smile up at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi felt the strange jelly-like sensation spread down through his limbs, like an extra weight was attached, fixing him where he was. His fingers clung onto his knees. 

Swallowing, he smiled back, and Oikawa's hands tightened around each other. 

"So -" Oikawa licked his lips. "- How did you fall in with this lot? Did Ushiwaka harass you too?"

Iwaizumi shook his head. "It was when I was wandering down near the border, a few years after my grandma died. I was almost eaten by a ferqol, but Daichi showed up and saved my life. He introduced me to Ushijima, and so on. This was before he headed the bandit group, of course. Which isn’t really a bandit group, more like a way to keep them infighting and stop them all banding together.” 

“Seems like that worked out well.” 

Iwaizumi leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, his fingers knitting together. “It used to. But Oikawa…. that village we passed… I can’t stop thinking, what if it wasn’t that Osole woman? What if it was an annoyed magicker? Maybe we deserve the reputation we get.”

He didn't intend it to, but his voice dipped at the 'we.' From Oikawa's slight frown, he knew he'd noticed it too, and he steeled himself. 

“There’s no way to know for sure,” Oikawa told him, his tone even, and Iwaizumi relaxed. “But I didn’t sense any power from anyone nearby. Not enough to do that scale of damage.” 

“Neither did I, but I still wonder…” Iwaizumi shook his head. “I’m probably overthinking it. It had to have been her.”

“Impressive,” Oikawa commented, his eyes flattening. “I didn’t think you were capable of thinking, never mind doing it too much.” 

Reaching out to the side, Iwaizumi picked back up his book. “So you are just here to insult me.”

A flash of panic ran through Oikawa's expression, and he extended a hand with an easy smile to touch Iwaizumi’s thigh. “I was just joking, Iwa-chan. You know that.” 

“It gets fucking tiring,” Iwaizumi told him, but he lowered his book again with a sigh, setting it on top of his notes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been thinking about something else -“

He paused, eying Oikawa, who didn't manage to curb a grin in time. Despite the sharp angles of his face, the edges always puffed his cheeks out a bit, and Iwaizumi's heartbeat stuttered. 

“Nothing to say,” Oikawa told him, waving him on. “Continue your thoughts. I'm sure they're very wise."

"I don't understand why people hate Breathers so much," Iwaizumi said, skipping over Oikawa's snarkiness. "I understand other magickers, they can only destroy things, but people like you heal. There should be exceptions."

“We can heal their loved ones, but sometimes we’d die in the process. There have been times when they haven’t understood why I’m not fixing them, why I don’t want to trade my life for theirs. They would sacrifice me in a heartbeat to save them, and I get it, but they don’t get the other way around. I’ve had friends, better people than me, pressured into healing someone and dying because of it.” 

Iwaizumi nodded, a pressure on his chest. “I see.” 

Oikawa hesitated. "I've had people bring dead bodies to my door, begging me to heal them." 

He inhaled, brown eyes reflecting the soft lantern light of Iwaizumi's candle in front of him. "Or rather, demanding. They don't understand that I can't help the dead, or the ones on the brink of death. I can’t help people with chronic illnesses either, only help relieve their pain temporarily.” 

"Ah." 

Oikawa blew out a breath, so forceful that the candle flame beside Iwaizumi flickered, almost dying out. "Yeah."

Despite their mutual apology, Iwaizumi still felt tense, as if everything hadn't been quite worked out between them. Oikawa kept his gaze on his hands, resting on the desk beside Iwaizumi's right thigh, running his fingertips along the side of his scarred hands. 

"Look, I know things aren't ideal for magickers," Iwaizumi began, searching for Oikawa's eyes. "But you have to trust me on this. You've seen how she works - if she can't persuade you to give her what she wants, she'll kill for it."

Oikawa kept his eyes on his hands. "And if it's for the right cause?"

"You and I both know that that doesn't justify anything." Iwaizumi looked down. "I killed two guards during the raid. That's two whole families who won't ever get to see their loved ones again, two missing friends."

Oikawa was quiet for a few thudding heartbeats. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "So what's the difference between you and her?"

"I don't try to justify it," Iwaizumi told him. "Absolute certainty in your actions only leads to a dictator. Or. . .well…" He shook his head. "You know what I'm trying to say. I might not justify the deaths by my hands, but tell me that you can understand why I felt I had to carry through with them."

Exhaling slowly, Oikawa met his eyes and dipped his head forwards. "I can't fault you for acting. I was next to the king for years, and I did nothing to improve the situation. I only cared that I was protected. That inaction, I think, is worse."

He gave Iwaizumi a wobbly smile, and Iwaizumi wanted to go to him, to hold him. There was something tremulous about his expression, and Iwaizumi knew that he had taken the events of the raid hard, the aftermath crashing down on him almost as heavy as on Iwaizumi. Biting the inside of his lip, Iwaizumi reached forwards, touching Oikawa's wrist, careful to keep his touch light. 

"It's done," he told Oikawa. "All of it. What matters is what we can do now."

Oikawa's eyes looked like scorched earth, a burnt copper of an old, blood-soaked battlefield. He inhaled, and his hand sought out Iwaizumi's lower arm, gripping around it with a strength Iwaizumi knew he had. 

"You're right," he said. "How could I ever forget?"

Something returned to his face, the hardening of the line of his mouth, a resolution settling in the flatness of his brow. Iwaizumi felt a little bit of breath steal out of his lungs, as if the air between them had become a vacuum, only promising breath if they drew closer. Iwaizumi scrambled for something that would release the atmosphere, and he could only think of one thing that had been bothering him, the lie he'd told to Oikawa at the lake. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked away, feeling Oikawa's hand fall away from his elbow. 

"You wanna know what memory that deity took from me? Like, really. It wasn't Yui's smile."

"It's not going to be a gross memory of Ushiwaka, is it?"

Colouring, Iwaizumi's head whipped back to Oikawa, who was snickering at his own joke. "Oi, do you want to know or not?"

Oikawa's lips twitched upwards. "I think you're going to tell me anyways."

Iwaizumi took a breath, trying to string together the words to describe what he'd felt, a haunting reoccurrence of this had happened before, he'd seen that before, and the feeling that had overtaken him wasn't new. "It was of you smiling. I can't remember it, of course, but I know… I know I saw that smile before. It has to have been yours."

"What? How is that valuable? I smile all the time."

Oikawa tilted his face to the side, demonstrating with a manufactured grin. He angled his flat hand under his chin, as if presenting it that way made his face any more handsome.

"Not like that," Iwaizumi said, shaking his head. "Not that idiotic looking thing. Like...one of your real smiles."

"Afterwards, you treated me differently. Not obviously, but there was something off about you," Oikawa admitted. "I even thought that maybe you had been possessed by a deity, but then you said something dumb and I knew that wasn't the case. Deities are actually smart."

Iwaizumi aimed a slap at him, to which Oikawa laughed at. "You shouldn't be so defensive over the truth, Iwaizumi."

"Iwaizumi?"

Oikawa blinked. "I suppose so. I guess I know other ways to piss you off now than calling you a cute nickname."

"But…" Iwaizumi couldn't explain it. His full name felt weird, impersonal almost, coming out of Oikawa's mouth. "It's fine," he heard himself saying. "I don't mind it. Or you can use Hajime, if you prefer."

Tilting his head, Oikawa gazed up at him. "Hajime?”

Mouth dry, Iwaizumi nodded. 

"It's a pretty name," Oikawa commented, the corners of his pink lips lifting upwards.

"Not as lovely as Tooru," Iwaizumi said, and Oikawa smiled fully. "Who said you had permission to say my given name, Hajime?"

He trailed out Iwaizumi's name, each syllable deliberate and drawling. 

"I'll revoke your permission to say mine if you keep saying it like that."

"Like what?" The edges of Oikawa's lips were quivering slightly with the effort of holding back his smirk. 

"You know," Iwaizumi said, wondering if Oikawa's lips would quiver or still if Iwaizumi clasped his own over them.

Drawing a hand up to tuck his hair behind his ear, Oikawa shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ha-ji-me."

Each syllable was accented even more this time, dripping from his lips heavy, thick, a smirk contained in his tone.

"Like.." Iwaizumi clenched his jaw, holding back his actual thoughts. 

_Like you're flirting with me._

"Like a spoiled bastard."

Oikawa smirked, crossing his arms over each other, rocking back in the chair. "It's not my fault if I get everything I want, Hajime."

"If you say my name one more time I'm throwing you out." Iwaizumi gave him a dead stare. "You don't need to end every sentence with it. I'm the only other person here."

"As if you could throw me out." Oikawa stuck out his tongue at him. "You short little ikol. And I just don't want you to get confused, Ha-"

"Don't."

"-ji-"

Iwaizumi crossed his arms over his chest warningly, and Oikawa paused, an innocent expression plastered over his face. "Hm? Am I doing something wrong?"

Iwaizumi wanted to punch him. Gently. By running the backs of his fingers down his cheek and closing his mouth over his - nope, that was just kissing him. Sighing, he turned away, pushing off the desk. "No. I just remembered, I meant to give you something."

Oikawa cocked an eyebrow as Iwaizumi crouched down by the corner, reaching into his bag. 

“I cleaned the blood off of it. Thought you might want it back.” 

Walking back over to the desk, Iwaizumi held out a brooch, the one Oikawa had given to the ambush leader shortly before he’d been murdered. Oikawa took it from his hand, examining the familiar pattern, the tarnished silver. He held it as if it was a relic from a past life. 

Iwaizumi returned to his spot on the desk, waiting for Oikawa to speak with a thudding pulse.

"How did you manage to keep this?" Oikawa asked, lifting his gaze. "Weren't your belongings destroyed in that fire?"

"I kept it in my pocket," Iwaizumi said quietly. "I thought we might need it to bribe others."

With gentle fingers, Oikawa reached out and affixed it to Iwaizumi’s shirt, having to half-stand up to reach the right height. Iwaizumi's breath quietened, and all he could feel was his quickening heartbeat in his neck, all he could see was the dark sweep of Oikawa's eyelashes angled downwards as he worked, the tender brush of his fingers on Iwaizumi's shirt. 

“It matches your eyes,” Oikawa said, and he glanced up, meeting Iwaizumi's eyes for a breath. “Better than mine.”

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi said, and his hands drifted upwards, fingertips grazing off of Oikawa’s hands as he slipped the pin into position. His fingers rested on the brooch, just above his heart. 

Oikawa gave his chest a little pat, as he finished securing the brooch, and his palms lingered longer than necessary. They felt cool, rough with scars, and Iwaizumi's shirt felt far too thick. Oikawa began to pull away, but Iwaizumi’s hands caught his, stopping his movement. Enough. 

"Oikawa, tell me that I'm not insane." He swallowed, his neck heated and throbbing, and pushed on. "Tell me that there's something happening between us."

Oikawa stiffened, the muscles in his neck sliding rigid underneath his pale skin. 

"And don't fob me off with a joke," Iwaizumi followed up. "If you don't feel something, fine. But don't pretend that you like me just to please me, or give me an indefinite answer. It's either yes or no."

Blinking at him, Iwaizumi watched as Oikawa tried to gather his thoughts. Iwaizumi saw that he had taken him off guard - he probably thought that Iwaizumi would be willing to engage in this back-and-forth indefinitely. He had been wrong.

Oikawa’s mouth cracked open. “I know I’ve been pulling away.” 

“You told me almost explicitly that you weren’t interested in me,” Iwaizumi reminded him. “And then you encouraged me to flirt with someone else. That’s a little more than just pulling away. That's telling me that you flat-out don't care for me that way."

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Oikawa asked, an edge to his tone. “‘No, Iwa-chan, don’t go off with that woman, I just told you that I don’t want a relationship with you but I don’t want you being with anyone else either?’ I’m sure that would’ve gone down well.” 

“So why did you tell me you didn’t want to pursue anything with me in the first place?” Iwaizumi’s arms split apart, gesturing with the influx of his voice. “I don’t understand. Is it because of Semi’s death?"

“Not just Semi.” Oikawa exhaled. “I’ve found out that it’s better for me to keep my distance, okay? I don't… bring good things to people.” 

"Then -" Iwaizumi blew out a breath, shaking his head. "Then don't flirt with me. It messes with my head when I don't know what you want. It feels like you're just fucking me about, and I know you might've had a bad experience with your kilra in the past, but that isn't an excuse to flirt with me and then tell me you're not interested in me. Like how you just put your hands on my chest, that's not something friends do."

The frustration in his voice rose, his hands floating in air, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to grab Oikawa or push him away. 

"I… I'm sorry." Oikawa dropped his gaze. "It's in my nature to flirt, even if it's someone I don't like."

Iwaizumi's breath flattened. "So then -?"

"Not you," Oikawa quickly added on.

"So what's the problem?"

"I just told you the problem! Apart from the fact that you're in an anti-magicker guild and I'm one of the most prominent magickers in the kingdom-"

Iwaizumi found himself shaking his head. "Suga and Daichi are dating, that doesn't matter-"

"Doesn't it?" Oikawa challenged him. "You yourself told me that maybe I shouldn't be here."

"I was pissed off at you," Iwaizumi told him, and his hand clamped around Oikawa's upper arm. "I didn't mean it, I swear."

"Whether you meant it or not, it's true," Oikawa refuted him, and Iwaizumi's fingers tightened for an instant. "It's not as if I'm bothered by your little society rejecting me, but they've hardly been the friendliest, have they?"

Iwaizumi lowered his gaze. "I guess not." He loosened his hold on Oikawa. "We just… have certain rules about magickers. Apparently it was much more open before, but it slowly became too large to handle properly, and with the hand we have in politics as well as physical power, we were pretty much untouchable. It brought some sort of brief order before corruption grew, and the ordinary people noticed. That's when the Lady began limiting our powers so we couldn't pass them on, so each generation died without adding even more white types into the mess."

"So you're excluding all magickers? That’s the solution you came up with?" Oikawa's hard voice dripped with disbelief.

"I know it sounds harsh, but it's worked. Daichi fought for Suga to join, but we overruled him. And something good came from that - Flightless."

"That's just an excuse to keep the separation," Oikawa told him, and he took Iwaizumi's wrist, removing it from his arm. He sat back heavily into the chair, eyes like stone."You may be happy to hide your actual nature, but I'm not."

"But you're happy to hide your actual feelings," Iwaizumi said. His fingers flexed, wanting to touch Oikawa again. "You still haven't answered me properly."

”All of my past kilra have died,” Oikawa said. “I always think it won't work out the same - that the next one will be different, but….” He lowered his gaze, rubbing his arm. "They're not. I don't want you to be the same."

Iwaizumi exhaled, watching how the muscles of Oikawa's cheek flexed. "Then… if you're that against having a relationship, why are you still flirting with me? Oikawa, help me understand."

Oikawa sucked in the side of his cheek, chewing slow. "I… I can't help it, okay? It's not as if flirting always means you want to date someone, after all."

"You just want to sleep with me?" Iwaizumi asked, feeling thoroughly muddled. "You didn't strike me as the type-"

Oikawa was already shaking his head. "I can't do casual hookups."

"So _what_ do you want from me?" Iwaizumi questioned, exasperation flowing through him. He was sure that his hand motions were growing out of control, but Oikawa wasn't meeting his eyes or being clear and Iwaizumi just wanted to get answers -

"I don't know," Oikawa said quietly. 

"Now you say that? After everything?” Annoyance spiked in Iwaizumi. “Thanks for confusing me.” 

“Hey, you were the one who pulled away at the lake,” Oikawa snapped out, his eyes narrowing. His copper eyes finally met Iwaizumi's, and the strength contained in them sent a ripple through Iwaizumi. “I’m not the only one sending mixed signals here.” 

Iwaizumi flinched slightly, jaw clenching. “I...wasn’t sure what to do. There are so many other things going on, if I had kissed you I might’ve been overwhelmed.”

“That didn’t stop you from trying to kiss me after the raid!” 

“That was accidental. I just… you looked…I wasn’t thinking properly.” Iwaizumi swallowed, pulling at the hem of his shirt, burning against his skin. “So what now?”

Oikawa looked down at his lap, his expression too complex to be readable. But as Iwaizumi stared at him, the tightness of his mouth became evident, the slight furrow of his brow, the subtle creasing of his left eye. 

“Listen…” Oikawa told him, meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes. “Maybe we should postpone this. Until the kingdom is stable again. It’s not exactly the best time to start a new relationship. If that is what we decide."

Iwaizumi felt uneasy, although he didn't know why. Oikawa's face had changed again, and Iwaizumi felt like he could almost connect the alteration of features to specific emotions - almost. If he spent a little longer with him, maybe he'd know how to read him intuitively, without even spotting the individual, fractional hints consciously. 

"Alright," he said, thinking of Daichi, of the heir, of the motherless boy. Of Matsukawa and Hanamaki fleeing the Osole, of the village burnt down, of the mob of hatred. He rested his palms on his knees. "Maybe it is for the best."

Silently, Oikawa extended his fingers towards Iwaizumi's hands, and Iwaizumi couldn't move as Oikawa took both of his hands in his. He lifted them up to his mouth, head bowing. It was a sad kiss that Oikawa pressed to the backs of his fingers, his soft lips like melting silk on Iwaizumi's skin. Iwaizumi felt heat flow up his arm, his ribcage constricting at the sensation, and as he breathlessly watched Oikawa kiss every joint, he couldn't help but wonder how smooth his lips must feel during a proper kiss. 

"Another time," Oikawa murmured out softly. "Maybe even in another life, eh, Hajime?"

Iwaizumi opened his mouth and discovered that his throat was too knotted to speak. He averted his eyes from the sight of Oikawa's loose hairs falling over his shoulders, and swallowed it down. His mouth felt thick. 

"I’m not waiting that damn long," Iwaizumi answered, a stone-cold lie, and Oikawa chuckled, letting his fingers go with one last squeeze. “Your loss.” 

Iwaizumi shifted to the side so he was directly in front of Oikawa, and opened his arms in a soundless request. With a slight smile, Oikawa stood up and wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi. His waist slotted in between Hajime's legs almost too nicely, too smoothly. Iwaizumi tried not to think further than that fact, burying his face in Oikawa's hot neck as they hugged tightly. 

“Once everything is sorted,” he murmured out, and it felt like a promise. 

Oikawa nodded, cheek grazing down softly against Iwaizumi’s. His arms fastened around Iwaizumi’s back, his torso shifting closer than necessary, chests pressing together. Iwaizumi felt his fingertips drag along his back, Oikawa’s hands clawing into his shirt. Yet the next moment, his hands relaxed again, palms sliding over Iwaizumi’s shoulder blades, and Iwaizumi wondered if he had imagined that heartbeat of desperation. 

“I have to go,” Iwaizumi told him, gently unwinding himself from Oikawa. “We have to figure out how to get Daichi back, as well as the heir.” 

“I take it I’m not welcome to this meeting?” Oikawa questioned, and Iwaizumi flinched. “Well -“ 

“It’s fine. I was joking, Hajime. Where did your sense of humour go?” He gave him a lopsided smile, one that didn’t seem quite steady enough for Iwaizumi. 

“I’ll prove that it wasn’t you," Iwaizumi promised. "Just give me time."

Arching an eyebrow at him, Oikawa's lips slipped into a more natural smile. “Did you forget that it could’ve been?” 

"Eh…" Iwaizumi grimaced. “It was my fault in the first place for not knocking that guard out entirely. In fact, it doesn't matter. The fault for the raid going badly is on me, no matter what way you view it."

Oikawa began to argue back, but Iwaizumi lifted a hand, placing his palm on Oikawa’s soft cheek. “Let me take the fall for this one, alright?”

His thumb swept across Oikawa’s cheekbones, stroking just underneath his eye, and Oikawa closed his mouth, eyelids falling halfway down. Iwaizumi could feel heat beneath his hand - or maybe that was him, his palm feeling like it was charring against Oikawa's skin. He was so handsome. 

“Okay,” Oikawa said softly. 

Giving Oikawa one last hug, Iwaizumi left with a little flame of hope in his lungs, Oikawa's voice repeating his name over and over in his head. 

“The Lords will be taking this route, here.” Akaashi tapped on the map. “There’s no other way for caravans to get through.” 

"But they mightn't be taking caravans," Moniwa pointed out, leaning forwards to scan the landscape. "They're not merchants. Although it would be wise to bring some men for defense, it's not necessary. There are no patrols at the border now, after all."

Iwaizumi's eyes skimmed across to Moniwa, to his focused expression. It was unusual for him to make an appearance at these sort of gatherings. With a sinking heart, he suspected it only told of the dire situation they were in. This was a gathering of war nobody could avoid. 

"Won't robbers have sprung up by now?" Asahi asked. "If there are no patrols, there's no protection for the villages on the border."

"On our side, yes," Iwaizumi confirmed. "But I'm sure the Lords who have land on the border have set up their own defences. I've heard of refugees from the South being turned away."

"Bastards," Atsumu muttered. "They really do show that they care for the ordinary human life, huh?"

Ennoshita sighed. "Nobody expects them to be compassionate. If she really intends to barter with them, she's got her work cut out for her. How many generations of kings did it take for us to finally reach an agreement?"

"Three," Iwaizumi answered. "So, in Katachi's history, not long at all."

"Oikawa must be fairly good at that sort of stuff, right?" Asahi questioned, and Iwaizumi nodded. "I've never seen him in action myself, but I have to admit, things calmed down after that treaty." 

"Surprise to me," Atsumu mentioned, with a sly glance at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi ignored him, continuing on. 

"Let's focus. If we can narrow down the possible crossing points over the mountains, there's a good chance of us intercepting one."

"Even if we do take one hostage, what's to stop her from simply joining forces with their next-in-line and crushing us with numbers?" Moniwa pointed out, and Iwaizumi exhaled. "We have the advantage of having a near-impossible to find base. I don't want to bank on that fact, however. I still think she's got a method of finding us, like she found Oikawa and me before, twice. If we have a small guard we can keep moving them around."

Atsumu leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "There's a way we can get a bigger guard, y'know."

"No," Iwaizumi told him, and Atsumu's eyebrows arched. "Thought this was supposed to be a democracy? Why don'cha ask the rest of the guys what they think?"

"We will ask for aid if we need it," Iwaizumi insisted. "But right now, it isn't necessary. Too big of a group will only call attention to our location."

Atsumu held up his palms. "Alright, alright. I'll let it go."

Iwaizumi hated the way the implied "for now" grated against his skin. He knew the others were watching him, waiting for a crack to appear. 

_If you can't handle this, who can?_

Iwaizumi grit his teeth and continued on. 

Coming out of the gathering, Iwaizumi rubbed a palm hard over his hair. It had been...too long of a day, to say the least. The immense pressure hadn’t loosened up an instant, always reminding him that it was his issue, his burden. When was the last time he'd slept? It was difficult to keep track of time underground, but the weariness clinging to his dry skin said it had been too long. 

"Hey, Hajime!"

Hearing Oikawa's voice perk up to his right, Iwaizumi turned. "Hey, Oikawa…"

He blinked, staring at Oikawa. 

"Your... hair?" 

Oikawa's hand rose, touching his short cut. "Sentences, Hajime, sentences."

"What happened?"

“Well, I was helping save an orphan-“ Oikawa began.

"He stood too close to a torch and burned half his hair off," Yaku deadpanned. "We forced Kenma to clean it up a bit for him, and it actually worked out."

“Don’t tell him that! I look like an idiot,” Oikawa protested, and Yaku gave him a dead stare. 

“‘Look like?’”

"It's.. uh, yeah. Good. Looks good," Iwaizumi managed to get out.

Oikawa looked a lot more than good. His hair flicked just above his eyes, swept sideways in a perfect arc, little strands curling down around his ears. It was cut short up to the tops of his ears, some bits awkwardly flying free from where they were supposed to be, which was adorable. 

"Kenma did a good job, didn't he?" Yaku grinned, smacking Oikawa across the back of his head. He had to almost extend his arm the full way out to reach.

Oikawa yelped, shooting Yaku a hurt look as he rubbed the offended area. "You little fucking gremlin -"

A glare from Yaku was enough to cut his insult off, but he stuck out his tongue instead. Iwaizumi felt his cheeks burning. 

"Yeah," he said, and their attention returned to him. "He did. I didn't know he could cut hair."

"We didn't either, but if there was any of us who could do it, it would be him. We were willing to risk Oikawa's hair."

"I wasn't," Oikawa grumbled, his slender hands brushing at his hair, as if handling something foreign for the first time, trying to adapt to it. 

“And that’s why we gave you no choice in the matter," Yaku announced, an almost proud look on his face. "It looked terrible. Anything Kenma did would've been an improvement."

Oikawa pulled a face. "He wouldn't let me have any input."

"And that's for the best. Iwaizumi, you coming to dinner? You look like you'll collapse if you don't get some food in you."

Grimacing, Iwaizumi nodded. "That's probably more accurate than I want to think." He had pushed away his hunger, seemingly a small issue on the rise of things, but now he was painfully aware that he had a gaping ache in his stomach. As Yaku and him began to head towards the common area, he noticed that Oikawa fell back, and he turned, flicking his eyes over Oikawa. 

"You coming with us or what?"

Oikawa offered him a little obnoxious wave, tilting his lips up into an empty smile. "I think I'll join you guys later, okay? I actually have things to do."

"There's no way you're not hungry," Iwaizumi insisted, and he was about to backtrack and haul Oikawa towards food if he had to, but he felt a tug on his sleeve, and glanced down to see Yaku shaking his head. "Leave it. I think he needs some time alone." 

"Listen to the wise little dwarf," Oikawa agreed, and Yaku pointed at him. "That's the last time I stand up for you. Get out of here, before we force you to socialise."

Oikawa put out his tongue, waving aimlessly as he spun back around with a light goodbye. "See you later, Hajime, Yaku-chan. Enjoy your slop!"

Dinner was a melancholy matter. Everyone knew someone was missing, and although he'd been away for years, it wasn't the same sort of absence, the same sort of hurt when you knew he was alive and okay, able to talk within a touch, instead of silence, hung into an unknown fate. Iwaizumi had already tried to contact Daichi through his mark - nothing. It, despite all of its advantages, was easy enough to counter - a metal band secured around the upper arm would do the trick, or perhaps he wasn't in a position where he could even touch it. Iwaizumi found his stomach roiling, his spoon dropping back into the bowl as he fought back the knot in his throat. 

His gaze skipped down the table, and found only half-empty bowls. 

“Hey. You didn’t show up at dinner, so I brought you some. It's good, and Yaku'll be offended if you don't eat it.” 

Oikawa blinked, one hand still perched on the door handle. “I told you that I wasn’t hungry, but thanks anyway.” 

Iwaizumi still wasn’t used to his shortened hair, the enchanting way the ends bounced as Oikawa angled his head. 

"And I told you, there's no way you're not hungry. I'm surprised you're even conscious, after all of that Breathing."

"What can I say, I guess I'm just better than you mere mortals." Oikawa's offhand shrug was silken, smooth and wavy across his shoulders, but he took the plate, whipped up by Yaku’s genius, and set it on the bedside table. 

_Mere mortals_. 

Had Oikawa said stuff like that before? 

Iwaizumi loitered by Oikawa's door, his hands tangling together. Oikawa huffed out a breath, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, the slight drop in height making their eyelines even. Iwaizumi's eyes tracked how his shirt wavered with the movement, how it was just translucent enough of a white to show the hint of a mole on Oikawa's shoulder, just close-fitting enough to see the outline of his collarbone. 

"If you think I'm going to invite you in, you're out of luck," Oikawa told him, and the smirk looked so natural on his face, the edges of it depressing his cheeks, that it pissed Iwaizumi off.

"I was actually thinking about inviting you back to mine," Iwaizumi said, and it was gratifying to see Oikawa's smirk falter, his lips loosening for an instant. Then his eyes narrowed, folding his arms over his chest. 

"Either way, you're going to have to work a lot harder to get me into your bed. I don't come cheap, Hajime." His smirk returned, more powerful than ever, curling his mouth elegantly. "A few chunks of stew isn’t going to cut it.”

Iwaizumi still felt a little thrill wash through him every time Oikawa said his name - which was a lot, unnaturally so. He wondered if Oikawa got the same heated feeling flowing through his skin when he said it.

"I think I'll keep a hold of my money," Iwaizumi replied, as if there wasn't anything he wanted more than to press Oikawa back into his room and lock the door behind them. 

Oikawa chuckled, straightening up, one hand reaching back for the door. "Ah, you poor thing, you can't lie for shit. I'll have to teach you someday. But for now, goodnight."

He leaned forwards, other hand resting on Iwaizumi's shoulder as his mouth met the upper curve of Iwaizumi's cheek. As Iwaizumi stood there, his face going up in flames, Oikawa winked, dancing back to behind the door and wriggling his fingers in a wave before shutting it. 

Iwaizumi remembered to breathe a few heartbeats later, cherishing the dampness of Oikawa's little kiss cooling on his skin. Blinking, he stepped away, fighting the urge to lift his hand and feel the spot. By the Lady, he had just been standing there like an idiot. Maybe Oikawa had had a point about him being thick. Or maybe it was just Oikawa that made him like that. 

Damn Oikawa, already acting like they were dating. 

He also realised he'd totally forgotten to ask Oikawa about his parents. It was alright, he'd bring it up tomorrow, and if he wanted to have a hissy fit about it, he'd have the entire day to sulk. The thought brought a little smile to Iwaizumi's face. Asshole. 

His hand floated upwards and touched Oikawa's brooch. 

"We need to recruit more men," Atsumu told him, and Iwaizumi shook his head, trying to remove the last strands of sleep from his mind. Gods damn him, he was too tired for this. "Outright war is something I want to avoid at all costs. We don't know if Aecus has the backing of more Northern factions, or if a section of them are acting independently yet. If she sees us gathering forces, she'll know we're preparing for a war."

"She's already preparing for war, we've seen her recruit more skuts from Katachi, never mind the North," Atsumu argued back, his steps outstriding Iwaizumi's. "You don't take hostages if you're planning on playin' nice. You do it so you can get bitches to back off if they try anythin' funny."

"Well, then we're about to try something fucking hilarious," Iwaizumi muttered back, turning the corner, Atsumu annoyingly keeping pace with him. He'd caught Iwaizumi on the way to a gathering to decide once and for all how to recover Daichi, and seemed all too keen on swaying him beforehand. Iwaizumi wondered who else he had approached before the official gatherings, and if he was the last. 

"You know what this is going towards, why fight it?" Atsumu asked, gripping Iwaizumi's arm. "Even that skut knew-"

Iwaizumi spun around, ripping his arm free. Atsumu had been on his case ever since he returned about bringing Oikawa, could he not give him a single trok’s break?

"If I hear you call Oikawa skut _one_ more fucking time, and especially in his presence-"

Astumu blinked at him. "You haven't heard the good news? Why, I thought you'd be the first to know, since yer basically camped out in his room since you've returned."

He stopped, and Iwaizumi inhaled. "Good news?"

"He left last night," Astumu informed him, shaking his head. "Room completely cleared out. Guess you didn't notice, with your leader duties 'n all. Sorry I had to be the one to break it to you."

"You're lying. He wouldn't do that."

Astumu shrugged, and something in Iwaizumi snapped at the sight of his neutral face. Grabbing his shirt, Iwaizumi yanked him closer to him. 

“You’re a fucking liar. Is this what you wanted? A reaction from me?! We have bigger things to worry about, more than Oikawa being here!” 

"Don't touch me." Atsumu's eyes were dark. "You may think you run this place, but you don't. Not after five years. You can't do what you want. You think you can just bring a skut here without consequences?" 

"I explained my fucking reasoning," Iwaizumi growled out, tightening his hold. Atsumu's shirt stretched out in his fist, pulling away from his neck. 

"You mean the fact that you two are fuckin’? There's a difference between a reason and a good reason." There was light dancing in Atsumu's eyes now, a sick amusement that made Iwaizumi's stomach feel like it was full of spiders, crawling through his guts.

His fingers, elongated, the knuckles hard and worn, reached for Iwaizumi's wrist, and Iwaizumi let him go. He made a noise of disgust, sure that the thunder in his chest was showing on his face, but Atsumu appeared unbothered.

"Go on and check his room," Atsumu prompted him, straightening out his shirt. "And maybe, if you're nice to me, I won't tell the rest of the guys about this. Ah, you creased my nice shirt, too."

Iwaizumi shouldered past him, more roughly than necessary. "Tell them I'll be a little late."

"See you later," Atsumu called after him.

Iwaizumi's ears were numb, a thumping in his temples overriding his thoughts as he made his way to Oikawa's room. He wouldn't have - would he? He'd promised to help Iwaizumi get the heir, promised to carry out his duties as a guardian… had he?

Panic swelled in Iwaizumi's chest as he tried to recall a moment Oikawa had explicitly said that he would. He couldn't think of one. His hand hit the door, and he pushed it open, already knowing what he'd find. 

Iwaizumi sat down on the bed, his head swirling, his thoughts so overwhelming that they filled up the empty room. 

Why? 

Too late, he realised that Oikawa had never told him what he had talked with Kae about during the raid. She had healed him. And before that, when he'd stopped Iwaizumi from challenging her at Flightless' camp.

When the heir had been taken… Iwaizumi had died. He'd taken Oikawa's account of what happened as true. Who else was there to verify it?

No. No, even Oikawa wasn't that good of an actor, was he?

Iwaizumi recalled the shock in Oikawa's eyes when he saw Iwaizumi's Breath, but if he had expected him to die, it would've been a shock anyways. But if he had wanted Iwaizumi dead, there had been countless times to do it… a shiver shook Iwaizumi, and he drew his knees up to his chest. Oikawa hadn't wanted him dead. He'd wanted him to trust him, to lead him here. 

_Everything I did wasn't enough. It never will be._

Weren't those words ones of a man ready to take drastic measures for change? 

Iwaizumi swallowed hard. It all slotted together too nicely. 

It suddenly made sense why Oikawa hadn't kissed him. Why bother faking feelings if you had already gotten what you wanted?

_I know I've been pulling away._

He hadn't said anything about his own feelings. Iwaizumi felt something inside him crumple, shrivel up and shudder. Maybe it was hope.

It still didn't make sense. Why would he take her side at the end, instead of pretending that he still disagreed with her? Had he hoped to sway Iwaizumi to her side too? Iwaizumi prayed so. If that was the case, then he had wanted Iwaizumi with him, or at least, the Form. Maybe that was a little shred of proof that Iwaizumi hadn't imagined the something between them. Everything else could've been acted - Oikawa had acted like a shallow dickhead at first, and Iwaizumi had believed him then. Who was he to say that the Oikawa he thought he knew was any different? 

Despite it all, Iwaizumi couldn't forget the way Oikawa's fingers had bruised his skin, how he'd hugged him, how tenderly he'd kissed Iwaizumi's hand. As his hands grazed over the small imprints, Iwaizumi's chest tangled in knots. Something didn't sit right. This wasn't right. Swaying to his feet, Iwaizumi searched the room, looking for something, anything to explain Oikawa's actions. After a time - he had no idea how long - he sat back on the bed, empty. Not even a letter. 

Oikawa wouldn't do this. Every nerve of Iwaizumi was crying out that. But he had. 

He took out the brooch, fingering it, thinking. And then suddenly, the expression on Oikawa’s face before he’d kissed Iwaizumi’s fingers clicked. Regret.

He had to talk to Oikawa. 

"They used the servant passageways." 

Oikawa spoke calmly, the air cold on the back of his neck. "And to get in, there's an extensive network of secret passageways underneath the castle, reaching outside the walls. Most of them stem from the king's room."

He could feel Daichi's heavy gaze on him. Oikawa stood in a plain room with three others. Kae, Daichi, and a stretched-out man with fire for hair. It was the room Torem had previously used for advisor meetings, but stripped of everything but a table and two chairs, only one of which was occupied by Kae. She leaned forwards, fingers tapping on the surface. 

"Anything else I should know?"

Hesitating, Oikawa thought of the plans he'd overheard to ambush the Westland Lords. He parted his lips, the words swelling, then he stopped himself.

Iwaizumi would be the one leading the ambush. 

Oikawa shook his head. “Nothing else of note. As you probably suspect, they didn't trust me enough to be present at their gatherings.” 

Kae nodded, loose black hair swinging forwards with the motion. 

"I'm glad you took me up on my offer."

Hands folded behind his back, Oikawa inclined his head. "It seemed only natural. Breathers should stick together, after all."

"Then, you're in charge of diplomacy."

Oikawa's head shot up. "Excuse me?"

Being given responsibility straight away? Without testing if he was a spy? 

"You made the treaties that are tying my hands. It only makes sense that you will be the one to disassemble them and create new ones with the Northerners and Westland lords. I want all mention of Torem's bloodline erased from every contract."

Oikawa inhaled. He had included that in order to ensure if someone else took power, the bordering lands would be bound (not only by their word) to not acknowledge them unless Torem was affiliated with them, or a blood relative. He was glad to see it had caused her some measure of trouble, but being asked to undo all of the contracts he had spent years forming… 

"Of course. We'll need to show them proof of the heir to begin."

It was ironic, really, that he was on this side. But he suspected that being cooped up in the castle had deafened him to the cries of magickers persecuted by regional laws designed to kill them off. He might've been able to wrangle his own agenda out of Torem, but there was more at stake than himself. He withheld a bitter grin. He thought he'd never think that again. Today was a tragic day indeed. 

Kae waved a hand. "Do what you need to, as long as he doesn't leave the castle. Get them to send an envoy to confirm his identity."

Oikawa bowed, a gentle motion. The role was flowing back to him easily, the supporting underhand with a touch on everything. It suited him well, fit as naturally as his preferred tailored shirts.

"Now," she rose up, gazing down at Daichi. "What to do with you?"

Oikawa saw Daichi's jaw clench. 

"Isn't it obvious?"

Oikawa's attention turned towards the only other person in the room, whose chin was flat to the table, eyes fixed on Daichi. He smelled vaguely of mint, but Oikawa couldn't possibly begin to guess why a minor deity would bother to involve themselves in human politics.

"Use him to break their spirits."

"The Form won't break that easily," Daichi declared, and Kae Breathed, her oil piercing through Daichi's lips and flooding into his mouth. 

Oikawa watched, trying to contain his horror as Daichi choked on her liquid Breath, soundless coughs leaking black oil from his mouth and his nose but getting rid of nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other observing the scene with flat eyes, absently patting his stuck-up hair with one hand. 

“Here.” Kae separated out a few pages from the stack in front of her and held them out to Oikawa. “Start with these.” 

Oikawa took the sheets, forcing his hands to be steady.

Daichi folded forwards, his shoulders juddering as his body tried to clear out the invasion, and Oikawa's gut twisted. His panic smelled like stone dust, inhaled from a brick at the bottom of a tower being slowly chipped away. And just as Oikawa couldn't hold his tongue anymore, the oil withdrew, globs of it being sucked back into her mouth. 

Daichi's gasps coloured the room, and Tendou yawned.

"Don't speak again," Kae instructed him, and Daichi's eyebrows furrowed, but he said nothing. 

She had done it so thoughtlessly, so offhandedly. Oikawa had to fight to keep his expression neutral. He was here for more than one person. And yet earlier, he'd held back information that could possibly endanger Hajime. Hajime. The name felt so nice, a balanced, soothing weight, even in his thoughts.

“Oikawa, do the Form have informants in the inner walls?” 

Oikawa blinked, recalling how they had organised a disturbance. “Yes.” 

“Then they will get word. Good.” 

“Whatcha gonna do?” the other asked. 

“A public execution. Gut him and nail him to the entrance gate. That ought to get the message across. We’ll remove his body when he starts to smell.” 

He whistled. “Harsh.” 

“It needs to be done.” 

And then, Oikawa snickered.

She turned to him. "What is it?"

"You really do want to piss off as many people as possible, don't you?" Oikawa declared. "I have to say, I respect your stance."

He could feel Daichi's confusion, her sudden switch in interest. "Only the Form. After this, they'll know not to meddle again."

The man beside her linked his hands behind his head, nodding vigorously. "That's exactly it! Scare them into pieces until they shit themselves."

Oikawa tilted his head. "I thought you don't want to piss off Flightless too. If you hang up their dead leader, it might make them reconsider an alliance." He shrugged. "But don't take my word for it. Try it, see how they'll react."

That made her pause. "I...hadn't considered that."

Her eyes panned to Daichi, and Oikawa hoped that her need to have magickers band together would outweigh her desire to put the Form back in their place - if she publicly killed Daichi, there would be no alliance with Flightless. 

"You're right," she said slowly. "Tendou, invite… what's his name? The one from the Westlands."

"Sugawara?" Oikawa supplied. 

"Invite him to come here. I have a feeling he'll be a lot more receptive to an alliance now."

Oikawa breathed a sigh of relief, not daring to meet Daichi's eyes. Outwardly, he twitched his lips upwards. "Somehow, I think you're right."

"Suga won't break, even if you've got me," Daichi insisted, raising his chin. Despite his position, he carried an air of dignity, a pride as he narrowed his eyes up at her. 

Swooping in, Tendou leaned over him, surveying him from only inches away, hands behind his back. “Someone's overconfident, don't you think? You were dead for years, weren't you? He's already gotten over your death once. What’s one more time on top of that?" He straightened abruptly, and his gaze shot over to Oikawa. 

Oikawa placed a hand on his hip, staring back with a smile of ease. "May I help you?"

"Hm….Nope," Tendou said, smiling back. 

Oikawa had to fight to keep the smile on his face, the shivers in his bones threatening to dislodge it. She observed them, and let the silence fall like snow, until Oikawa felt uncomfortable, under cold pressure. Pushing Daichi out of the room, she followed him, leaving Oikawa and Tendou alone. 

Oikawa’s face soured. He knew he wasn't trusted yet, he knew he wasn't in. Did they really have to make it this damn obvious? Subtlety was a lost art, apparently. 

“Isn’t love just adorable?” Tendou commented, staring at where Daichi had been seated. “Makes me want to scoop them up together in my arms and hug them close, get that warm fuzzy feeling, you know?” 

“I’m going to go check on the heir,” Oikawa announced, bypassing him. 

“Makes me sad about what’s going to happen to them. Truthfully.” 

Oikawa stopped, a cold edge raking up his spine. 

“I mean, it’s not as if they can change the outcome much. Predictable people like that are no fun.” 

_She has a way to tell the future, I'm sure of it._

Swallowing, Oikawa tried to even out his breathing, knowing that Tendou would notice, know that he'd won. He suspected it was too late. 

"I wouldn't count on it," Oikawa told him, twisting back around. "People aren't as predictable as you think."

Tendou's eyes widened even more, and he leered towards Oikawa, who held his ground, staring back with what he hoped was a cool, detached gaze. To his surprise, Tendou's mouth split in a grin, like a sword slicing open flesh. “That’s exactly why you’re going to be so entertaining, Tooru-kun.” 

He sung out Oikawa’s name in a low, haunting hum. 

Uneasiness overtook Oikawa's limbs, and he couldn't hold back a shiver as he strode away, sucking in the side of his cheek. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> I may have a soft spot for ushijima,, sshh.  
> Some of you saw this coming, I'm impressed! you guys are legit so good with the theories, thank god I've got a lot more coming >:)  
> as always, thank you for reading/commenting (especially love u guys) and I hope to see you in the next one!  
> 


	14. Strife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay - I once again, put too much in one chapter for me to do and ended up with absolutely no cohesion in time. But hey, this one is extra long to make up for it! I hope you enjoy!!

Iwaizumi reached out for Oikawa’s back, his fingers grazing off of his brown cloak, dappled with grey fungus. He thought nothing of it until he realised that black moss was crawling up his fingers, dropping the ends off, blackened and twisted, the roots still embedded in his flesh. 

Recoiling, Iwaizumi tried to scratch it off, but it only came quicker, enfolding his entire hand up to the wrist, the sensation a low burn. 

He took off after Oikawa, extending a hand, this time his fingertips drawing along the back of his neck, his hair sweeping the back of Iwaizumi’s knuckles as he darted forwards, out of his reach.

Iwaizumi didn’t know why, but he felt as if only he could catch Oikawa, talk to him, then this would all be over. It was the purpose of the dream - it was why his mind had created this space, to chase after Oikawa, the sole reason for its existence. Running and running, the terrain sucking at his ankles like mud, Iwaizumi kept on, stumbling over tangles of grass, nondescript landscape blurring every time he tried to focus on it, but really all he could see was Oikawa's cloak, rippling in the air as he moved, almost floating above the ground with his graceful leaps, just like the raid. Compared to him, Iwaizumi felt like a great hunk of jagged metal, thumping forwards, pushed by an uncaring giant's thumb. 

His lungs heaving, he finally grabbed Oikawa's arm, pulling him to a halt. Oikawa began to turn around, his arm cold marble underneath Iwaizumi’s palm, the profile of his face just about visible, expression utterly neutral. 

“Oik-“ Iwaizumi started, then Oikawa's skin dissolved, his body bursting into little scraps of ash, gently floating away. Too late, Iwaizumi recognised the power surging through his body, hidden by the strength of his emotions, the tenseness of the knot in his windpipe. 

Holding his blackened hand to his chest, Iwaizumi dropped to his knees, his other hand carding uselessly through the air. 

“Oikawa!”

The moss crept up his arm. He could feel it worming through his skin, roping around his bones and sucking out his life, leaving his body dry, crumbly, but all he could do was stare at the tatters of ash that had been Oikawa, waiting for the moss to reach his heart. 

Hajime woke up thinking his heartbeat was about to hammer through his chest. Sitting up, he folded over himself, his hands rubbing and rotating together, as if making sure that the damp texture wasn’t there. 

“Fuck…” 

He exhaled heavily, wiping his sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Looked like a new nightmare had replaced the classic. 

Hunched over his desk, Oikawa rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, trying to ease the knot that formed there. He still wasn't used to the coldness of the air rushing in through the cracked window, skimming across the bareness of his skin. It felt… vulnerable, as if the early morning was biting away at his spine. He lifted his gaze, surprised at the pastel sunlight splotches across the low rooftops of the servant's quarters ahead of him, the guard's buildings to the right. His blink felt like someone was scraping soil into his eye. 

Sleep hadn't come easily. Or much at all. 

He heard a swinging of the door behind him, a usually subdued whine coming from people creeping in to ask something of him, but in this case, it squealed through the room. Oikawa couldn’t hold back a wince as it bumped off the bookshelf behind it, a greeting blasting through the room.

“Good morning, Ru-kun!”

Oikawa closed his eyes, holding back a sigh. 

"Tendou. You're up early," Oikawa commented dryly, turning around, slinging one arm over the back of his chair. "Did you get up just to visit me? I'm touched." 

"I did," Tendou chirped back. "I just wanted to tell you something. After all, we're on the same team, and have to look out for each other!"

"May I ask you to make it quick?" Oikawa aimed a tight smile at him, wishing it was an arrow. "I am up early because I have the preliminary drafts of the new treaty between the Northern cities and Katachi to write, not because of a whim." 

"Sounds boring," Tendou answered, nodding downwards as if agreeing with himself. "And pointless. You know those treaties never last, don't you?"

Oikawa fought not to let his irritation show, but he had a sense that his smile grew sharper, the hint of gums showing. "What did you want to tell me?"

"Wellll….." Tendou drew out the word, scratching at his ear. “You want to know something?”

“Not particularly, no. My deepest apologies.”

Tendou fixed Oikawa with a sympathetic expression. “In every flash I’ve had, Iwa-chan has died.” 

Oikawa’s fingers clenched in his lap. “If you think I’ll respond to such obvious provocation, you’re wrong, I’m terribly sorry to inform you,” he replied, uncurling his fists. They were damp. “Go spread your lies elsewhere, would you? I’m busy.” 

“You know I’m only trying to give you a heads up, right, Oiks? It mightn't even be this timeline, it could just be eighty others that I'm seeing.” 

"Leave," Oikawa said. 

As Tendou slunk out of the room, Oikawa glanced down, at the eight crescent-shaped indents in his palms, and wished he believed his own words. He exhaled heavily, staring down at his half-finished contract, and stood up. Oikawa knew he wouldn't be able to focus after that. 

Emerging from his study, he stretched back, leaning his hands on his hips as he felt his aching back crunch. Oikawa let out a deep sigh from the bottom of his lungs, closing his eyes. It appeared that maybe growing older had affected him after all. 

He turned to the side and blinked, not recognising the figure standing beside his door. Then it registered - the square helmet, the long spear, discontinued, broken parts of metal armour, the bolt-upright posture. 

He rolled his eyes. It made sense. Kae would hardly leave him alone without a guard. It was annoying, but he couldn't say he didn't understand the cautionary measure. Still, he couldn't stop himself from being a bit insulted - firstly, only one guard? Oikawa sighed, stepping out fully into the corridor. He'd thought a man of his caliber would merit three, at least. 

Passing on by, the guard caught his arm, and Oikawa blinked, about to unleash a retort until he recognised the young eyes underneath the helmet. 

Instead, he settled for a polite, “Kindly let go of me. Just because I healed you once doesn’t mean you have the right to touch me.”

“Ah -“ the guard started, withdrawing his hand. “Sorry, Oikawa-san. I just wanted to thank you again for saving my life - and to say that it’s good to see you back here.” 

Oikawa tilted his head. “You’re very welcome. Please address me as Oikawa-sama from now on as a symbol of your debt to me.” 

“Yes, Oikawa-sama.”

At his innocent docility, something in him softened. “What’s your name?” 

The guard straightened, his arms stiff by his sides. “Kindaichi Yutaro, at your service!”

“Well Kindaichi, it’s good to see you alive,” Oikawa said, gaze tracing his neck - well, what was visible above his loose chest plate. Not a hint of the wound Iwaizumi’s blade had inflicted. He still was just as good as ever. “How old are you?” 

“Sixteen.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows shot up. He’d known that he was young, but that young?

“And you’re part of Aecus?”

“I was part of the king’s guard that surrendered.” His voice lowered a little, and Oikawa suspected that it was out of shame. Oikawa scrabbled to remember the age to join the guard - wasn't it fifteen? What a waste.

"There's no point in throwing away your life," Oikawa told him firmly, and his gaze rose again. "Torem wasn't worth your loyalty, and he certainly doesn't deserve it now that he's dead."

He breezed on past without waiting for an answer. 

Oikawa needed a distraction, something else that he had to focus on, that his mind couldn't wander off from. From the restlessness in his limbs, the buzzing in his toes, he also needed some exercise. This was the first of several days where he hadn't been travelling constantly, and his body demanded what he had become accustomed to. 

So he slipped down to the courtyard underneath his window, where Iwaizumi had used to train others the way he'd trained him. It had fully stocked weapons, and the guardhouse was only beginning to shift now, shortly after dawn, so he judged he would be alone for another hour, if he was lucky. 

Grabbing a staff, he went through the motions Iwaizumi had taught him, feeling more and more natural to him. It was difficult to synchronise his Breath to the movements of the staff at first, whirling around constantly, edge sharp. It was like as if he was trying to instruct someone else through a maze while at the same time dodging knives. Sometimes his Breath cut in too far, too slow to keep up with the rod’s swipe, or too fast. Despite the high walls around him, the big, open flat area made it possible for the wind to swirl around him, knocking his Breath off-course occasionally. He didn't mind - he'd learn to account for that. 

By the end, Oikawa’s hands and wrists were bloody, leaking from a thousand different cuts. The staff itself was notched in hundreds of places, and the faint taste of wood rested on Oikawa’s lips. His head spun from the extended lengths of time without oxygen, and he heaved his breaths in, concentrating on filling up his lungs as much as possible. 

His own blood smelled sweet, like crushed jasmine flowers. 

Sensing someone by the doorway, he glanced up, and saw Kae walking towards him. Despite the warming air telling of spring, leading Oikawa to dress in lighter materials, she still had her cloak wrapped around her, sleeves swaying low. 

"Good morning," she said, and Oikawa straightened up, tightening his grip on his staff. "Good morning. What has you up so early?"

"The scent of your blood," she replied, looking down at his hands. "You're needlessly damaging yourself."

"I'm not strong enough in battle," Oikawa answered, inhaling. "You saw that for yourself. I may be already close to perfect, but I would like to achieve it wholly." 

"That's a good reason, but you're pushing yourself too hard." Without hesitation, Kae took his dripping hands in hers. "I'll heal them."

"It's fine -"

"You can't perform your duties properly if you're injured."

"My job is a diplomat, it won't be affected by my hands being bandaged."

"Your job is only that for now. I don't intend to under-utilise you like Torem did - I may need you for other duties yet."

Oikawa's eyes felt pinched at the sides, but his words were light. "That makes perfect sense. I am the most useful person out there, after all." 

"I will use you to your full potential, don't you worry about that," Kae assured him. It made Oikawa a little uneasy - he'd always banked on the advantage he had of people underestimating him because of his looks, and to have someone understand his capabilities and intend to use them was… disconcerting. It took the choice away from him to help or not. 

Oikawa nodded curtly, and lowered his jaw. Kae's Breath was the smoothest he'd ever felt, and he closed his eyes, almost enjoying the cooling sensation of his warm, sticky blood being pushed aside, out of his wounds as his skin flowed over open flesh, sealing quietly. 

He studied Kae's face, a woman little older than him, trying to see any hint of white. 

"Are you wondering why I propositioned you?" Kae asked, letting go of Oikawa's healed hands. 

“A little,” Oikawa admitted. “We did try to kill each other, after all. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I did, twice.” 

"That was impressive," she admitted. "And I think it was because of that I decided I wanted you on my side. You know the struggles of a Breather. The anguish of walking by someone needing your help, knowing you could help them but being afraid to, of exposing yourself. You know, and that's why I gave you a chance to join me. Because we understand what it's like."

Oikawa thought of Hajime. Did he understand? 

His heart sunk. No, no he couldn't compare their experiences like that. It wasn't a bad thing if he didn't understand. There were parts of Hajime's life Oikawa couldn't grasp, either. Thinking like that was what brought about the divide in the first place - it shouldn't matter if people's experiences were different. 

Abruptly, Kae flinched, her hands rising to her head, stumbling backwards from Oikawa. "Leave - ah," she gasped, and Oikawa took a step forward, his Breath welling up in his throat. She met his eyes, and Oikawa stopped dead, the blue flashing through her eyes bringing him back to when they first met. His palm clamped over his scarred neck without his consciousness deciding to. 

"Kae-" the word stuck in Oikawa's throat as she ducked her head again, her mouth squeezing closed. "Are you-"

"Fine." Her voice was strangled, hollow. "Just fine. I'll leave - leave you to your training."

Backing away, the folds of her cloak flattening against the backs of her calves, she hastily walked to the edge of the training circle, almost breaking into a run before reaching the outer door embedded into the wall. 

Oikawa was left with an open mouth, and a crest between his eyebrows. 

Kae's composure had never cracked before, never mind entirely crumbling down. Absently, he traced over his hands, the familiar scars centering him, the new ones completely healed over. The wind roared around his ears, chilling them. It reminded him of the night of the raid, the wind that cut through him when he was fleeing, the snow that forced him into that damn cave. The night Kae overtook the castle. 

For the first time, Oikawa wondered what price she paid for her overwhelming power. 

  
  


"I'm stepping down."

Iwaizumi's words seemed to cause a ripple through the room, everyone leaning forwards, heads raising to survey him. Even Kenma was examining him, and Iwaizumi took a breath. 

"I've been away for the last five years," he began. "I shouldn't have taken over from Yaku. I don't know how the dynamics have changed and I don't have the fullest knowledge of your abilities that I should have when planning our offensive. You can vote for a new co-leader tomorrow, if that's long enough to make up your minds. It'll be an anonymous vote, and anyone can nominate themselves or others."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yaku sit back, arms folding over his chest. "I suppose you're serious about this?"

"Does this look like a joke to you?" Atsumu asked. "I question your sense of humour."

"There's no way to make you reconsider?" Akaashi inquired, and Iwaizumi bowed his head, his fisted knuckles boring into his table. "There's no reason for me to reconsider."

"This isn't because of Oikawa leaving, is it?" Ennoshita asked, blunt and flat as ever. 

"No." Iwaizumi exchanged a glance with Yaku. "I was considering this before that, but Oikawa being… him leaving is one blunder too many. I may have let an enemy spy into our stronghold. I don't deserve to lead after that."

Nobody could argue with him, and from the atmosphere of the room, nobody wanted to. Pressing his lips together, Iwaizumi sat down again, wishing the weight would lift off of his shoulders. Although he'd given up his responsibility of leader, the mistake that could cost them their lives was still there, pushing down on everyone in the room. Oikawa could easily lead her here, and there was no guarantee she couldn't force her way in. It was a physical place, after all, even if it was protected by magic to a certain extent. 

"'Enemy spy,'" Atsumu quoted. "You changed yer tune, didn't ya?"

"He said he might have." Akaashi jumped to Iwaizumi's defence. "We don't know anything for sure yet."

"Looks mighty suspicious though, doesn't it?"

"He left his books," Asahi inputted quietly. "He left all of his information on magickers in the memory room."

Atsumu looked unimpressed. "So? Bet it's nothing we don't already know."

"There's information on the castle, and on Torem's personal habits as well. I think they'll be useful, even to understanding where Torem's government went wrong."

"What'cha mean, go wrong? Some bitch decided that she didn't like the way it was being run, those people will always exist. It doesn't mean there was anything wrong with the system. He had the longest reign without any wars, yeah? Sounds like it worked to me."

Iwaizumi bit back an "only because of Oikawa's negotiations," and instead inhaled, counting the beats of his heart until exhaling again. Something Oikawa had taught him, to check in with his body, with how his blood was flowing, how his heartrate was faring. And right now, not so good. He couldn't be seen defending Oikawa. He was standing on thin enough ice as it is, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake away the sound of cracking.

"That aside, we need to plan how to counter her. We have to assume she knows everything that Oikawa knew," Akaashi said, his gaze drawing over to Iwaizumi. 

"It's…" Iwaizumi swallowed. "A lot."

"Hey, Asahi," Atsumu called out. "Didn't you mention that that skut was nosing about in our memories, too?"

Asahi dropped his gaze. "I didn't mean that-"

"But he was, wasn't he?" Atsumu pushed. “What ones did he see? And don’t try to fob me off, I know you know every single memory placement in there.” 

"He just seemed curious," Asahi told him, gaze ghosting across to Iwaizumi. "That's all. There's nothing there particularly damning."

"That we know of," Atsumu stuck in. "So, what'd he see?"

"Not much," Asahi answered. "I don't think he liked the feeling of being pulled in by the memories." 

"We're wasting time," Akaashi interrupted. "If we are safe and presume he knows everything and act upon that, we'll be okay. Which memories he saw aren't useful."

"Fine."

The meeting moved on, to Iwaizumi's immense relief, infusing throughout his shoulders. He breathed a sigh to himself, his hands held loosely in his lap. He let the other's words flutter lightly against his ears - noticing, but not really listening. Oikawa's ghostly hands grazed against his arms, pushing at his shoulders, pulling at his thoughts. He… wasn't really a spy, was he? He hadn't faked all of that, had he? Iwaizumi knew he couldn’t have possibly pretended through all of… whatever they were. 

Yaku nudged him, and Iwaizumi blinked, refocusing on the room. 

"So," Atsumu summarised. "We capture at least one Lord willing to negotiate with her, use them as leverage to get Daichi back. Then, we team up with my bitchass brother for more men, and take out as much as Aecus as we can in ambushes, try to scout out her numbers and where she's getting her supplies from. We cut her off, pressure her, and hopefully make her appear weak, so getting the backing of any other factions will be difficult. Once she's in that position, we attack, and end this. Yeah?" 

A collection of nods bowed around the table. Iwaizumi kept his gaze rooted to the table in front of him. He'd never noticed the brown knots before, the lighter inside of the loops. 

"And what then?"

Iwaizumi had barely registered that he'd spoken aloud until he felt the silence pass over the room like a funeral cloth. He glanced up, mouth dry. 

"I mean… once we have the heir, what do we do then? A baby can't rule."

Atsumu snorted. "You really had to say that?"

Iwaizumi felt heat flood to his face, but he pressed on. "I asked you a question, Miya. What happens afterwards?"

"Then we work on equalising the world," Atsumu said. "This divide can't be maintained, it's gonna wipe us all out, ain't that clear to you?"

Vagueness. Vague promises. Iwaizumi inhaled. "How?"

"Well," Atsumu replied, a smile carving across his face. "I figured I'd leave the 'how' up to my brother. As annoying as he is, he's always been better with - y'know, diplomacy, mincing his words and shit like that."

"No shit," Iwaizumi said.

Atsumu arched an eyebrow. "Hey, Iwaizumi, there's no need to be so aggressive. Just because I was right about that skut -"

"I told you." Iwaizumi stood up sharply, his fists vibrating by his sides. "I told you not to call Oikawa a skut again."

"Mm?" Atsumu's voice was flat. "How're you gonna stop me?"

"I can think of plenty of ways -" Iwaizumi began, shoving back his chair. The abrupt screech vibrated up his feet. 

"Miya-san," Akaashi spoke lowly, and Atsumu glanced over to him, shrugging. "Hey, I didn't do anything. If he chooses to lose his temper and blow up defending someone who's not even here, that's on him. After all-" he focused on Iwaizumi, lowering his eyelids, the perfect picture of apathy. "I can just kick him out now, can't I? He’s not the head anymore."

"Come over here and fucking try it," Iwaizumi challenged. His jaw felt like it might crack in half. 

Yaku caught Iwaizumi's arm. "Hajime, don't. He's trying to bait you."

“Yer being generous, Yaku. Looks like there’s no ‘trying,’ about it.” 

Turning around, Iwaizumi stalked out of the room. He heard Atsumu break the silence less than a trok later, his low voice making anger grip onto his chest. 

“That’s Iwaizumi’s problem. He fights for people who don’t deserve it.”

As he walked away, he told himself that he didn't have to convince them that Oikawa was worth it. He just wasn't sure if he believed it himself yet. Oikawa left them, but Iwaizumi was still grappling with possible reasons why. He stopped in his tracks, exhaling hard. He knew he'd have to go back in - they were required to choose a new co-leader, and for a vote this important, it was vital that every council member was present.

But he needed some space. 

Iwaizumi angled his head back, staring flatly up into the ceiling he couldn't see. The corridors were high, perhaps to create the illusion of space, of air, and usually, it worked. For the first time, it didn't work. Closing his eyes, he let the darkness flutter down against his cheeks, the licking heat from the lamps not quite reaching his skin. 

He wondered if this was how Oikawa had felt. 

Kindaichi had been shadowing him ever since he arrived, but Oikawa was beginning to tire of his constant presence. 

"Can I not take a piss in peace?" He announced, spinning around to leer at Kindaichi - well, as much as he was able to, he was annoyingly tall, taller than Oikawa. Still, despite his height, Kindaichi's brief wince didn't fly past Oikawa's sharp eyes.

"I was ordered to follow you everywhere, Oikawa-sama."

Oikawa made a noise of dismissal, waving his hand. "I'm sure those orders do not include staring at my dick while I'm pissing. I have nothing to cause the downfall of the castle stashed away in my pants, thank you very much." 

It had become a sadistic side hobby of Oikawa's to see how red Kindaichi's face could get during their little exchanges. And this moment was magnificent - his comment had obviously had the desired effect, as, under his helmet, Oikawa could see pure red, and fancied that he could almost feel the heat from Kindaichi's cheeks on his own face. 

"Yes - I mean no, Oikawa-sama, I'm sure you don't have anything, but Kae-sama told me to be thorough -"

"Hmm?" Oikawa arched an eyebrow, extending one hand to brace himself against the bathroom door. "You're welcome to search me, as you said, _thoroughly,_ before and after the bathroom, but I assure you, you'll find nothing but an impressive package and a stunning body. During the process, however? I beseech you to leave me alone. Surely that isn’t unreasonable.” 

It wasn't as if he was shy - but having Kindaichi stand by his shoulder the last few days as he did his business was… a tad disquietening. 

Lips pressed thinly together, Kindaichi nodded, face aflame. "Yes, Oikawa-sama." 

Barely holding in a smirk, Oikawa hummed. "Mm. Say that again."

"......yes, Oikawa-sama?"

Oikawa inhaled, tilting his head back. "Yes. That sounds just right. Now -" he paused, a thought occurring to him. Kindaichi was easy to intimidate - far too easy, in fact. Why would Kae choose him of all people to shadow Oikawa?

"Aren't you far too young and inexperienced to be guarding someone as powerful as me?”

"Ah, Kae-san thought that you'd be less likely to kill me if you tried to escape. Since you went through the trouble of saving me once, I mean." 

Oikawa quirked an eyebrow upwards. "That’s quite an assumption. Another way of looking at it is that since I saved you from certain death, your life is now mine to take away if I wish." 

"I...um, I hope not," Kindaichi replied, flustered. 

Oikawa tried to hold in his snicker. "That's all you have to say?" 

"Apart from please don't kill me?" Kindaichi thought for a moment. "Perhaps something about bringing you down with me. That'd be cool to say, wouldn't it?" 

Oikawa burst into laughter. "I hate to break this to you, but it's only cool to say if you actually say it. Say something like 'yes, but you won't find me an easy opponent, Oikawa-sama,' with a serious expression, and bang your spear end on the ground as you finish speaking."

"Oh!" Kindaichi quickly straightened out his expression, and despite his full bladder, Oikawa leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, watching as Kindaichi cleared his throat, straightening up. 

"Well, if you try to -"

"Are you talking in a deeper voice?" Oikawa questioned, lips quirking upwards. 

"Um - no, of course not," Kindaichi denied, in a tone about two octaves higher than the one he just spoke in. "Let me try again." 

Straightening out his face, Oikawa mentally willed himself not to laugh - he'd teased the poor soul enough, and he feared if he laughed as hard as he thought he was going to, he might just actually piss himself. 

Squaring his shoulders, Kindaichi upturned his chin, so he was actively looking down on Oikawa. Good. "If you ever try to kill me, I will take you down with me," he intoned, and Oikawa smiled, stretching out a hand to slap his shoulder. 

"That was good! I almost didn't laugh," he praised, and Kindaichi's brow creased. "Thank…. you?"

Oikawa laughed lightly, backstepping into the bathroom. "You're welcome, Kin-kun. Now, if you don't mind, I have other business to attend to." 

He shut the door in Kindaichi's face without waiting for a response, still chuckling to himself. 

"We have to have everyone there to vote."

Akaashi's voice was even and measured, and Iwaizumi blew out a breath, pacing around in the confined space of the corridor. "Fuck, I know, but I don't want to go back in there. That's admitting defeat."

Akaashi paused, as if considering his next words. "You admitted defeat the moment you resigned. This is simply reconfirming it."

Iwaizumi glanced up. "Do you have to be so blunt?"

A smile tugged at the edge of Akaashi's mouth. "I must be harsh if even you are saying that to me."

Iwaizumi rubbed his hands down his face. "By the Lady, I know you're right. I just have to get over myself, walk in there and listen to Atsumu speak without punching him in the face." He stopped, then closed his eyes. "Nope, can't do it."

"Hajime-san."

Shoulders drooping, Iwaizumi turned back around. "Fine."

"It already reflects badly on you that I had to coax you back in like a petulant child," Akaashi commented, taking Iwaizumi's arm. "Try not to have another tantrum in there, please."

Grimacing, Iwaizumi ran a hand back through his hair. "Akaashi, you're being mean now. I wasn't that bad."

"I prefer the word 'earnest,'" Akaashi mentioned, his emerald eyes teasing. "But I acknowledge that Atsumu's attitude towards magickers should not go unchecked. I will look into some of the rules and see maybe, if we can alter them. I think the vast majority of the council would rule in favour of easing the restrictions."

"They better," Iwaizumi muttered back as they walked down, but he couldn't deny the little flare of hope in his chest. 

Maybe, if they were better, Oikawa would come back. 

Iwaizumi felt like he was treading on glass, with a chasm on either side.

The route hurt, but there was no other way to go. He put up his hand.

"Alright," Akaashi announced, eyes sweeping around the fully packed circular table. "It appears that Miya Atsumu is the new co-head of the Form with me. Congratulations, Miya-san."

Closing his eyes, Iwaizumi lowered his hand. The gathering had been tedious, and the outcome was exactly as he expected. Atsumu's expression, triumphant and knowing, was sheared into the backs of his eyelids. It was fine. Atsumu would do a better job than him, and he would support him in any way possible. He mightn't get along personally with him, but Iwaizumi would have to be obscenely petty to allow that to colour his decisions. 

He opened his eyes, things continuing around him, conversations he felt outside of, with voices that felt less familiar than he remembered. Inhaling deeply, he shuffled his chair closer to Yaku, who was discussing armour choices with Akaashi. They both ran their gazes over him for a trok, then shifted their bodies to include him, sliding the paper of options into the new middle. 

Iwaizumi felt his lips move upwards in a shimmer of a smile. 

  
  


"Hey, you little shithead ikol." 

Tobio only blinked back up at him, blue eyes becoming brighter by the day. Shutting the door behind him - and giving Kindaichi a warning look to stay behind the door - Oikawa stuck out his tongue at him. Tobio paused, a sort of wonder crossing over his soft features. Then his pink tongue peeked out of his mouth, and Oikawa only stuck his out further as he crossed the room. 

"Bleh, you fucker. Don't copy me, I'll always do everything better than you."

Tobio, being a baby, looked back in response, a focus in his eyes that Oikawa didn't like. When were babies able to comprehend words again? Maybe he shouldn't be cursing so often. 

He sighed, pulling his cold tongue back in. "Listen, I know we haven't always been on the best of terms, but I think that I'm ready to forgive your transgressions." 

Sitting beside his cot, Oikawa reached a hand into his cot, dangling his fingers above his face. "You can't understand a word I'm saying, can you? You small idiot. How do you survive when you're so stupid?"

Tobio only caught onto his forefinger and attempted to cram it into his mouth, and Oikawa ripped it out of his grasp. "Ew, I'm not having your spit on me. Go chew something else."

Leaning back, Oikawa sighed, listening to Tobio gargle. "Look, I haven't always been… good to you. But… I swore to protect you, and I wouldn't be much of a man if I went back on my word, would I?"

He tapped Tobio's nose, and Tobio's tiny mouth rounded in a smile. "I'm here now," Oikawa told him. "You're so much more important than you know. With you, I'll fix this. I'll fix all of this."

He absently dipped in his hand again, tussling Kageyama's tuft of soft hair, wondering how his life was going to spin out. Not even a year old, and already pulled between so many different forces, used as a political weapon, been yanked from the arms of a dying man, and now, here.

The sound of the door clicking open drew his attention, and he looked over his shoulder at Kae, her hair tied back over her neck, sweeping past him to take up Tobio in her arms, murmuring softly to him. She showed no signs of her earlier weakness, her steps as sure as ever, movements fluid as oil. As Oikawa sat there, his ears picked up a melody, strung along by a high humming. Singing was not something you did to a bargaining tool. 

She twisted her neck, staring at him over her shoulder, thickly clothed as always. Leaning down, she kissed Tobio's forehead, whose eyelids were drooping, clearly worn out by the difficult baby life of shitting and screaming. She continued to soothe him, humming a smooth song under her breath. 

He knew now why her face had looked familiar the first time he'd seen her. It had made sense - the black hair, the thin lips, mirrored on the baby in her arms, along with her unbending resolve to get him back. 

"I was thinking…" Oikawa mentioned. "My study was close to Torem's room, but I don't recall…"

He paused halfway through his query. His initial familiarity to her… he'd believed was because of her features resembling Tobio, but there was a definite chance he had passed her in the corridors. 

"You know of the secret passage in Torem's bedroom?" Kae spoke lowly, perhaps to not disturb Tobio, who was dozing off in her arms. "That's where I snuck in, and after he washed his hands of me, where I entered to kill him."

"I figured as much." Oikawa's mouth twisted into a grim smile. "I was wondering actually - why did Torem decide to take Tobio instead of sending you away once he knew you were pregnant? I can't imagine that the queen was happy about that." Oikawa grimaced. "I would've thought that she might've been a bit displeased. As in, execution displeased."

"Surely you didn't think the queen and Torem didn't have a child for ten years of marriage by choice?" Kae asked, and Oikawa winced. 

"When you put it like that…. Was Torem really that desperate?"

Kae nodded. "Yes. I was only one of many he courted in attempts to have a child, but I was the first to fall pregnant." 

"Lucky you," Oikawa commented dryly, and Kae raised her thin eyebrows. 

"I should be saying that to you. It's impressive, how you managed to stay as a magicker in this castle. Torem was a hypocrite, but for him to openly protect a magicker…"

Oikawa inclined his head. "The Osole did try to murder me numerous times. But for obvious reasons, Torem was fond of me. I enjoyed a level of protection here most other magickers didn't."

Her eyes draped over him. "Were you one of his lovers too?"

Stiffening, Oikawa held up a hand. "I don't doubt that would've furthered my standing, but I was… otherwise occupied." He hesitated, and Kae didn't speak, perhaps sensing there was more. 

"It didn't stop him from trying," Oikawa said, and Kae's eyes narrowed. 

Oikawa laughed airily, waving a hand back and forth in front of his face. "Don't look so worried! He tried, but if he had tried any more forcefully, he would've been dead long before you got to him." 

Oikawa smiled, and Kae smiled back. 

"How did you manage to secure your position in the castle?" she asked, playing with Tobio's hair. Tobio was motionless now, his eyelids completely shut, at ease. 

"Hmm…." Oikawa angled his head back, draping an arm over the back of the chair as he thought. 

"I had always planned to get in here, of course, I saw my chance when he was injured, and shortly after negotiated with a troublesome merchant that had been avoiding Torem's taxes for months, then he refused to get rid of me." Oikawa smiled. "Good times.” 

"And his convenient injury had nothing to do with you at all?"

Oikawa's smile grew thin. They thought too similarly, their minds colliding on the same tracks of thought. "Any old wagon driver can be a little clumsy at times," he settled on, shrugging. "I just happened to be in the right spot at the right time to heal him and charm him."

Kae chuckled. "He always wanted himself surrounded by beautiful people."

She said it objectively, but it stuck in Oikawa's mind. He knew he was stunning, obviously, but he'd never thought about it as a factor of Torem keeping him in the castle. Kae was beautiful too, but in a sharp way, the angles of her brows, her straight nose, like the edge of a blade, or the end of lightning. 

Oikawa found himself wondering if Tobio would grow up with the same sort of precision around him, the aura of standing next to a wall of razors. 

Akaashi’s thumb swept over Bokuto’s cheek, wishing he didn't have to leave this moment. 

“I mightn’t be able to visit as often,” he said softly, and Bokuto's face creased up, thick white eyebrows knitting together. 

"Why not?"

Lying on his side, he propped himself up on one elbow, waiting for an answer Akaashi didn't want to give him. He ran a hand down Bokuto's arm, over the swell of white spreading from his hair to his hand, breaking through his hazel skin. He had once thought white was a sign to fear the individual, that it was a symbol of imbalance in the world to be fixed. That was how the Osole thought. The name alone sent a wave of unease through Akaashi. He knew what Atsumu’s next move would be. Or perhaps he only thought he knew - Atsumu was notoriously unpredictable, and if he had a fight with his brother in the meantime -

"You look like you're overthinking again." 

Bokuto's voice broke into his thoughts. His hand rounded Akaashi's bare shoulder, pushing the blanket further down. Akaashi felt it skitter down his back to rest at his waist - and he would've felt chilly if Bokuto's hand wasn't so warm.

Akaashi blinked, his hand stilling on the other's arm. "Ah… maybe I have been. Apologies."

"You don't have to apologise!" Bokuto shook his head, stuck-up white strands flickering over grey. "You're my boyfriend - talk your thoughts out loud to me. That always helps you, doesn't it?"

Akaashi smiled, shifting a little closer, feeling the bed bend under his weight. "It does. But it's…" he sighed. "It's complicated."

Bokuto becoming a little dejected was something inevitable, since even Akaashi himself was feeling a deep sense of dread. For once, he didn't know how to offset the blow. The cabin around him seemed to shrink, closing in on him, whispering that he shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be in Flightless, he shouldn't be sleeping with -

Bokuto's lips smacking against his forehead startled him a little, as enveloped as he was inside his mind.

"Tell me," Bokuto urged, and Akaashi felt his thoughts begin to flow down to his tongue. 

"Things are changing in the Form," he told him, fingers tightening around the impressive expanse of Bokuto's arm. "And I'm not sure for the better, either. Hajime-san has stepped down as leader, and although Miya-san has filled the gap, he's intent on bringing in his brother. That in itself is worrying, but I predict that they will propose a meager with us, the Osole and the Form into one organisation."

Bokuto's golden eyes darkened. "But you won't let them, right?" 

"I don't think someone like me could stop him if Atsumu backed him up." Akaashi glanced down at his hands. They seemed so small. "Even Hajime-san didn't take this fight."

Bokuto's expression sparked with interest, and he touched Akaashi's forehead. "You… I don't know…" He gestured with his other hand, half of it soaked in white. "Think so much. I bet you could take down Osamu on your own! And I'm always here to back you up if you need it!"

He beamed at Akaashi, and Akaashi felt something melt inside him. Reaching up, he took Bokuto's hand and pressed a kiss to the backs of his fingers. "I know you are."

He hesitated, wondering whether he should say his next words. Iwaizumi had asked him to say nothing. But he trusted Bokuto. "And Hajime-san is a magicker, too."

Bokuto's eyes grew wide. "Whoa! But he's not allowed to be part of the Form then? Did he get kicked out? Is he coming here?” 

"I haven't told anyone yet," Akaashi said, and he could hear the guilt seeping into his voice. He closed his eyes, soaking in Bokuto's heat. "I know I should turn him in. The Form works because of our rules. Before, it was completely open and accessible, and unregulated. Needless to say, that led to it being corrupt. There simply was nobody to keep the Form in line, no internal rules. Then the Osole was formed from someone who saw the corruption, the way magickers were treating ordinary humans. They had good intentions - I know that from Asahi's memory plants, but…" Akaashi sighed. "Now they don't moderate magickers, but eradicate them. All in the name of equalisation."

His eyes snapped open. "Ah - my apologies, I'm probably boring you with all of this history…"

Bokuto laughed, airy and free, and Akaashi felt the pressure of his worries drop off his chest. "I love hearing about whatever you have to say, Akaashi. Don't worry about me getting bored."

"Then continuing on - you can understand why I'm torn," Akaashi finished gently. "I understand the reasoning for our regulations, but for Hajime-san to leave, right after he's returned… it would lead to some uneasiness, and possibly rile up the anti-magicker attitudes even more. To think that someone so trusted on the council was one all along - it may lead to a surge in support for the merger with Osole. Not to mention, expelling Hajime-san would diminish our military strength significantly. Ushijima, Atsumu and Iwaizumi are our main commanders when dealing with large forces - I don't have the background or knowledge to fill in his role."

His chest felt a little lighter, his head a little less heavy. Speaking them hadn't shrunken down their significance, but it had eased their effect. 

Bokuto whistled underneath his breath. "Wow, that's a lot to handle."

Chuckling, Akaashi nodded. "To say the least."

"But, you know whatever happens…." Bokuto touched Akaashi's cheek, his fingers structured and rough. Akaashi tilted his face into the touch. 

"You'll be able to deal with it, no question about it," Bokuto informed him, so sure and steady that Akaashi thought his chest might overflow. 

"I love you," he said quietly, as if said too loudly, the words might lose meaning. 

Bokuto had no such reservations. He announced his next words, strong and clear. 

"I love you too, Akaashi! More than anything!" He leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow, and Akaashi felt warmer than he ever had in his life.

“Oikawa.” 

Folding his hands behind his back, Oikawa inclined his head. “Sugawara.” 

The other man swung his legs over the saddle, dismounting from his dappled grey horse. Sweat shone on its neck, and Oikawa suspected he had ridden hard to make it to the castle in a third of the time it had taken him and Iwaizumi. The messenger herself had taken a week, and Sugawara arrived a mere four days. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here. You left the Form, I’m assuming?” 

Sugawara gave him a gentle smile, one hand gathering his horse's reins, the other picking at his dark green cloak, mud clinging to the very ends. It offered a striking contrast to his skin colour, as if he was a pale birch surrounded by nettles. 

“I did say that my allegiance was with Torem ‘for now,’” Oikawa reminded him, and Suga's smile stretched out softly, his eyes sad. “I suppose you did.” 

Oikawa tried to shake away the guilt. Iwaizumi’s face swam to the forefront of his mind, and he closed his eyes, as if that would help erase his smile. He couldn’t fade away the thickness of the lily scent on his lips as Iwaizumi asked him about his feelings. It had been over a week, and Oikawa swore that the strength hadn’t faltered in the faintest. To distract himself, he stroked the mare's muzzle, tracing down the dirty grey forehead, gently picking off the flecks of mud in her fur. 

Sugawara tilted his head, observing the outer arch. "Will she do me the honour of coming out here, or am I to wait like a dog?"

"I'm to escort you up, if you don't mind." 

“A bit better than a dog, then. Perhaps a horse?” 

Oikawa gave him a wide smile. “I assure you, she means no disrespect.”

Sugawara’s eyes scanned Oikawa’s face. “Hm. Yes, kidnapping my boyfriend and blackmailing me to go to her stolen castle isn’t disrespectful at all.” 

Oikawa couldn’t help but admire the casualness of his words, a breezy tone that suggested a chance meeting at the market, a playful sort of conversation. He had mastered that himself, of course, but it was rare to meet another. It was… refreshing. 

Backstepping, Oikawa upturned a forearm, pushing back his sleeve. “Please, follow me. Your horse can rest in the stables, and I can assure you that she'll have the best of care.” 

He gestured to the archway behind him, the paved pathway through it. Beyond, the clattering of feet on stone echoed against the high walls, the yelled demands of the leading warrior, the slight scent of sweaty bodies and wet straw. 

He saw Sugawara’s hard swallow as he led his horse forwards. "You're acting oddly formal."

Oikawa wet his lips. "I'm simply doing my job."

"You don't seem to be enjoying it."

Oikawa smiled thinly, passing scarred walls of the arch. "You don't know much about jobs, do you? Did you enjoy being in charge of Flightless when Daichi was… away?"

"I know I'm not naturally a leader, but I was lucky enough that Kuroo stepped up and helped me massively," Sugawara answered calmly. "I know he'll handle things when I'm away, too. But we won't have to fill in for him for much longer."

Oikawa's eyes flickered over him, to his set jaw, the pulse in his neck. He smelled like the sea, as if all of its force packed into an average-height man with kind eyes. Whether those eyes were deceptive or not - whether the warmth behind his gaze was genuine, Oikawa couldn't yet tell. 

"I'm sure you won't," Oikawa told him, and the words felt slippy on his tongue, too much like a greasy lie for comfort. 

Sugawara's hair fluttered on his temples as they emerged from underneath the entrance arch, the wind picking up, swirling Oikawa's deep red cloak, feeling it swish against his ankles. It felt foreign, to have such a formal attire on, even though he'd only been a few weeks out of it. Sugawara himself, in addition to his mossy cloak, had donned some black undergarments, completely without armour. Whether it was a choice of stupidity or confidence, Oikawa wasn't sure. 

"Have you ever been in the castle before?"

Bunching up the reins in one hand, Sugawara rolled up his sleeve with a sharp smile. "Take a guess." 

Sitting square on the inside of his elbow was a chunk of white skin, barely visible against his regular skin shade. Oikawa himself was on the lighter end of the scale for Katachians, but the Westland people did not even have the barest tinge of brown. 

Again, Oikawa found himself wondering why Sugawara was here in the first place. The Westlands were notoriously pro-magickers, utilising them as police, bodyguards, enforcers, depending on the region and ruler. Admittedly, Oikawa had heard trickles of some lords abusing the power difference, but that was to be expected. It shouldn't be grounds to move to the storm of chaos that was Katachi.

"Some of us aren't as wily as you," Sugawara praised him faintly, and Oikawa cocked up an eyebrow. "Suga, my dear, I've known you for perhaps four conversations, and I know that's not true of you, although, it is of course, for the vast majority of people. In fact, think you're up to something right now."

Suga chuckled. "Normally you'd be right, but when it's Daichi's wellbeing on the line…"

He trailed off, and Oikawa found his silver tongue struggling to fill in the gap as streams of soldiers hurried around them. Some of them had patches of white on their visible skin, some of them didn't. 

"I'll bring you in through the warrior courtyard. Is that okay?"

A stablehand pattered up to them, outstretching his forearms with a slight bow. "May I take your horse? She's a fine beast." 

"Isn't she?" Sugawara smiled as he passed over the reins, laying his palm flat on her neck. "Take good care of her. She rides faster than the wind deities can fly." 

"You must have driven her hard to get here so fast," Oikawa commented as the stablehand walked away, the mare following with a bowed neck, obviously too spent to complain about the sudden change of hands. 

"No harder than she was able," Sugawara assured him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "That's enough small talk. Show me where Daichi is." 

The route was familiar to Oikawa. He'd traced the pathways countless times over the past six years. 

The difference was the sheer amount of people. Before, it has been servants and the king's guard only, clad in their light metal armour with its distinctive clinking as they moved. Now, Aecus, emblazoned in their red and black cloaks, shifted amongst the tightly marching guard - the uneasy looks thrown their way not passing by Oikawa unnoticed. He saw that they were directed at the brief flashes of white on their skin, at the unusually prominent brow of the Northerners. 

As they moved forwards, the warriors parted around them, and Oikawa felt sharpened eyes on him - he moved his focus to the side, and realised that some were dressed differently, in lighter clothing, barely any armour, crude machetes hanging off a thin band around their waists. They fixed Oikawa with a stare as he passed by, and Oikawa felt his eyes narrow, despite himself. Bandits, from the South. He was amazed, once again, at Kae's negotiating ability - although, he wondered what in this kingdom she promised them. The king's guard had pushed them back enough - the fact that they weren't slaughtering all the enemies they could see was a miracle in itself. 

She had fitted the stables with beds, Oikawa noted, to accommodate more soldiers. So she was gathering a force larger than the king's? Oikawa had noticed the almost constant stream of people in through the gates, but as his window overlooked the training courtyard, he didn't have a good view of what was happening outside. 

"Ah." Sugawara was looking over at a huddled group, seemingly distant from the rest, at the corner of the stable. His eyes reflected familiarity. "So you are drawing magickers from Flightless too. It's good to see that they're still alive."

"Of course," Oikawa replied smoothly, thanking the gods that he wasn't the one in charge of organising the supplies and accommodation. "We do have the best resources here, after all."

"Hm." Sugawara looked thoughtful. "I do hope so. It must be a strain, having to support this amount of troops for an extended length of time." 

“As I said,” Oikawa repeated. “We have the best resources here.”

Suga held up a hand. “I’m not criticising your operation, just… observing. I meant no offence.”

Again, Oikawa felt a dangerous little twinge in the back of his mind. He covered it up with a board smile. 

“Of course not, Suga-san. No offence taken.” 

“Please, call me Koushi.” Sugawara smiled back, his pale smile holding no warmth. 

Oikawa felt uncomfortable. Oikawa fucking Tooru felt uncomfortable. He directed an easy smile back, holding up one hand. "Ah, shall we keep it professional, Suga-san? I think that's for the best."

"Of course, I understand completely."

Sugawara's smile was radiant, and it got under Oikawa's skin. He chatted easily as they walked on, the grand double-doors of the castle, light ashwood with gold work, leered closer. The queen had a way of designing things to intimidate. Oikawa's speech faltered a little as they approached, spotting a flare of red hair to the side of the door. He braced himself. 

Tendou bowed deeply as they made it to the entranceway of the castle. Oikawa's eyes narrowed - instead of the usual forearm upturn, he had bowed. Was this his way of keeping him off-balance?

"Greetings, my sweet Suga-Suga."

"Have we met before?" Sugawara asked, bowing back. "If we did, I'm sorry. I don't seem to recall you."

"No, no, not at all! I'm Tendou," Tendou informed him cheerfully, spinning around and throwing open both doors dramatically, swinging inwards with the ease of a deity's strength. "I only wanted to come down here and tell you to enjoy your stay."

Suga frowned. "I don't intend on staying..."

"Intentions are funny things, don't you know? Even the worst intentions can end up in something good, and the good intentions can burn so easily," Tendou commented, and Suga exchanged a look with Oikawa, silvery eyebrows lowering in confusion. "Ah - thank you?"

"Tendou, as much as we appreciate your wisdom, nobody asked for it," Oikawa replied, standing back and allowing Sugawara to walk through the doors first. Sugawara gave Tendou a polite wave as he dropped out of sight.

Tendou hung back, his hands folded behind his back, rocking on the balls of his feet. "I was simply offering advice. Good luck, Ru-kun. A lot hinges on this."

"Again, truly enlightening information," Oikawa said coolly, sweeping on by. 

He had no time for deities who thought they were more important than they actually were. 

  
  


“Welcome, Sugawara-san.”

Kae upturned her forearms, but didn't push up her sleeves to show bare skin, as was the formal custom. Oikawa saw Sugawara's cheek twitch, but he adhered to the custom himself, revealing his blue-veined arm, the barest hint of the white on the inside of his elbow. His eyes flickered past her, through the doorway into the room, empty apart from a circular table, covered with a red cloth, and two guards.

"Before we proceed any further, I need to see him."

Sugawara's voice was the soft sort of dangerous, the gentle diffusion of venom through blood. Oikawa had to hold back a shiver. Kae's gaze never faltered. 

“Mm. Of course. I thought his presence might make you more receptive to an alliance,” she said, and Sugawara’s hands clenched. 

She signalled to one of the guards, who vanished off into a side room. Kae led Sugawara in, and they sat at opposite ends of the table. Oikawa, gripping his hands behind his back, waited by the doorway, observing how rigid Kae's movements were, how Suga's fingernails dug into his cloak. 

Daichi was brought in, his hands unbound, the freedom almost mocking. Oikawa watched from across the room, at how Sugawara’s chest swelled with his next breath, how Daichi’s mouth parted unconsciously, his neck stretching out towards Suga. The scent of a fire drifted over to Oikawa - longing, desire, destruction. 

Before Daichi said anything, the guard slammed a hand into his stomach, and he doubled over, gasping. 

“Stop!” Sugawara leapt out of his seat, hands grasping at air. "You have what you want - I'm here! This isn't necessary!"

“It’s - fine, Suga,” Daichi managed to wheeze out. “I’m fine.”

“We’re only here to talk,” she reassured him, gesturing to his seat. “Sit, please.” 

Unmoving, Suga stared at her, fists furling up on the table. The guard grabbed Daichi's arm, roughly yanking him up straight again, and Oikawa wondered if Kae instructed him to do that, so Suga would see the pain on his face. Daichi's eyes sought out Suga's, his jaw set solidly. 

Suga's next words sliced through the room. 

“If you lay one more hand on him, I’m walking out of this room, and you’ve got yourself one more enemy.” 

His voice was unyielding. Oikawa didn't doubt that Daichi’s previous words to her were misplaced. 

“I won’t,” she assured him. “As long as you cooperate with me. Or you’ll have a dead lover for the second time, this time permanently.” 

Sugawara sat, his extended fingertips brushing the cloth surface of the table. His pale hands were striking against the crimson. “No, I don't think so. You’ll return Daichi to us, then we’ll discuss an alliance.”

“Have you forgotten who has a knife to his throat?”

“And you seem to have forgotten what I’ve said - if you harm him at all, all chances of an alliance are off the table. Do you really want a faction of magickers standing against you? Our numbers are more or less equal. It would be troublesome, no?"

“Your magickers aren't trained soldiers. Mine are. I have nothing to fear from your opposition. I’ve already offered you two an alliance. And yet, I find him invading my castle and stealing away the heir. I take that as a declination. By all rights, I should have his body nailed to the outer gate by now. "

“You’re a cruel woman.” Suga exhaled, licking his lips. "I'm willing to negotiate now. We're ready to negotiate."

Kae nodded to the guard, who released Daichi. Daichi stumbled over to Suga, who scooped him up, his slender form somehow bearing the weight of Daichi as he guided him down into a chair. Oikawa heard Sugawara whisper some indistinguishable things to Daichi, who nodded weakly, his hands on Suga's face, as if feeling that he was really here, not a hallucination. 

"Koushi," Daichi murmured, closing his eyes. 

Suga leaned his forehead to Daichi's only for a brief heartbeat, then turned back to her, his face hardening. Oikawa hadn't thought that a face so round and cute could convey utter hatred, but Sugawara managed it, through and through. 

"Alright," Sugawara began, bending forwards with his joined hands on the table. "If we are to go through with this, your proposal needs to change."

She beckoned over to Oikawa. "This is where he comes in." 

Suga's gaze slashed across to him, and Oikawa suppressed a quiver. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be welcome in Flightless any more. 

"Yes," he informed Suga, sitting down with equal space between Suga and her. Daichi slumped against Suga's side, his arm passing around his waist. Oikawa saw Kae's eyes flicker towards him, but chose to stay silent. 

A compromise, wagered by an outsider trusted by neither side. It was a smart ploy for her, Oikawa had to admit. Nobody would see her as weak if it was him suggesting more flexible alternatives. Oikawa knew his job well - after five years, he was an expert in getting the balance right, making each party come away feeling like they had the better deal, but not completely satisfied either. 

Sugawara's knuckles were white, and he gave Oikawa a stiff nod. "Go ahead." 

It was an exhausting process. Both wills were made of raw iron, unbending, and Oikawa could see why Daichi's life needed to be threatened in order to get Sugawara seriously to the debating table. 

In the end, Sugawara agreed for Flightless to patrol Katachi's Southern border (observe the bandit attacks, and not defend the border, as she wanted) supply some food to the castle for the influx of refugees, and in return, weapons, equipment, and her promise of help if bandits turned their madness on them. And of course, no offensive on either party against the other. 

Sugawara refused to commit on any action against the Westlands. 

"One more thing," Kae added. "I keep Daichi here. You have my word that I won't harm him."

"Absolutely not," Sugawara retorted. "Our alliance is based on trust -"

"A trust your own lover has intentionally broken -"

"We didn't have an alliance at that point," Suga insisted. "Do you really wish to be the type of ruler who forces others to do their bidding? You're just like Torem -"

"I am not!" She half-rose from the table, and from Suga's blink, Oikawa knew he didn't expect his barb to be so effective either. "I gave both the Form and Flightless a chance to ally with me and my goals, which benefit all of you, and your stubbornness led to this. It's not my ruling that makes me do this. It's your unwillingness to put aside your pride and cooperate."

She exhaled, sitting back down.

"I will have Daichi well cared for." She nodded over to Oikawa. "He will make sure of that. But he's not returning with you. I will have an associate from Aecus accompany you back to your camp, and he will ensure that the conditions are being met. You're welcome to do the same here." 

Suga's jaw tightened, and he inclined his head. "I have someone in mind. I'll stay here in the meantime, and send for him. He should arrive within the week. I'll look over Daichi's conditions -" his voice broke, and Oikawa felt pity pool in his lungs as Suga shut his eyes, blowing out a breath. "I'll ensure that Daichi's living conditions are acceptable. Because -" he opened his eyes "-if you mistreat him in any possible way, or if I hear that one single guard harmed him, I will kill you."

She smiled thinly back. "I gathered that already. I don’t doubt that you would try.”

“And I don’t doubt that you would try to defend yourself.” 

Sugawara‘s smile spread to his eyes, and for once, Kae showed unease, her fingers curling up into a fist on the table. "Are we done here?"

"Yes," Suga said, his hand running down Daichi's arm. "But I'm arranging his living conditions myself."

He was already rotating to focus on Daichi, who was blinking slowly at Suga, a half-there, dreamy expression on his face. Suga ducked his head, pressing his forehead to Daichi's, whispering things as if neither Oikawa nor Kae were there.

"Of course. Take all the time you need. But I expect our arrangements to be put in place within the week."

"It will be done," Sugawara promised.

“Oh. And one more thing."

They turned back to Kae. Oikawa tried not to let his surprise show on his face - Kae had not mentioned any further requests to him. 

"I believe you have a man by the name of Bokuto in your camp?” 

Iwaizumi stared at his belongings, laid out on the bed. Ushijima pointed beside him. 

“I advise you to bring your shield.” 

Iwaizumi huffed out a breath. “It’s heavy to carry, and it’ll slow us down. Is it really necessary?” 

“If it stops you from being killed, it will be worth it,” Ushijima reminded him, and Iwaizumi pulled a face, stepping forwards to draw his fingertips across the corrugated surface. 

Yaku has designed it so not only did it repel the attack, but it made it difficult for the person to pull back their blade, trapping it on the shield’s front. Iwaizumi would feel vaguely guilty leaving it behind, but he hated dragging around a shield. He might be strong, but he wasn't as strong as Ushijima, who had the luxury of being gifted resistance on top of his already powerful form. 

“We only have a vague idea from the scouts where Kunimi is,” Iwaizumi told him. “We have to be flexible and fast if we’re to intercept him.” 

Ushijima exhaled, shaking his head. “If you are going to ignore my advice, why did you ask me to help you pack?” 

Iwaizumi chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “It helps having someone to bounce reasoning off of. Thanks, Ushi. Really.” 

"It's no trouble." 

Ushijima rested a hand on his shoulder, and the weight of it made a memory flash through Iwaizumi - of the same heavy hand cupping the underneath of his thighs, strong, tender fingertips indenting his skin. 

Iwaizumi shrugged off the hand. 

This wasn’t the time. He'd be lying if the thought of hooking up with Ushijima post-breakup hadn't crossed his mind, but that time had passed years ago. He could still feel the slender feel of Oikawa's spine on his fingertips.

He didn’t want anyone else. 

“And that brooch? Why is that there? That isn’t required.”

Iwaizumi stiffened. He’d really been that much of an idiot and dumped all of his stuff out on the bed without thinking about it? 

“It’s - ah, sentimental.” 

He scooped it up, placing it away in his pocket. He felt Ushijima’s questioning gaze on him, but ignored it. Leave him wonder. 

"So," he continued. "Do you think that we’ll need two coils of rope?"

Oikawa halted in front of the door, inhaling deeply. He twisted back around, regarding Kindaichi flatly. He was only about a handspan away from Oikawa's shoulder. He appreciated how seriously he took his guarding duties, but at the same time...

“Stay outside,” Oikawa warned Kindaichi, who frowned, lips thinning. “Kae-sama told me to -“

“And I’m saying to stay here,” Oikawa cut across him, the edge of a diamond in his voice. 

Kindaichi offered no more resistance. 

Turning back around, Oikawa walked into the room, the guilt spiking through his chest. "Daichi."

He closed the barred door behind him. Sugawara had negotiated much better conditions for him, and he'd been moved out of the dungeons, but Kae clearly wasn't underestimating any member of the Form ever again, not after Iwaizumi's resurrection. The room was split in half, the window in front of Oikawa barred too, but to his right, all the furniture had been pushed over there, and more bars protruded from ceiling to floor, trapping Daichi. 

"Oikawa. How are you?"

Resting in a chair beside the bookshelf, Daichi sounded tired, but he managed a smile as Oikawa approached. Oikawa lay down the tray of food in front of the thinly spread bars, kneeling behind it. "Better than you, from the looks of things."

"You never lose your sense of humour, do you?"

"You could say that." Oikawa huffed, picking up one plate and sliding it as close to the bars as possible. "Here. I tried to get you as much as I could smuggle away from the table. She actually has servants working here."

"Any chance of you being so kind as to free me?" Daichi requested, and Oikawa smiled sadly. "That's a bit of a leap, don't you think? Let's work our way up in small steps before considering jailbreaking."

Daichi knelt in front of him, sitting back on his calves as he reached for the wooden implements through the bars, his hand barely fitting through. Oikawa sat cross-legged opposite him, laying his own plate on his lap. "Where is Sugawara?"

"He said Kae wanted to see him."

"Hm." Something flashed across Oikawa's mind, a niggling at the back of his head. "I would've thought that he'd spend every moment he possibly could with you."

Shrugging, Daichi took a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "All I can tell you is what he told me. The fact alone that he's in the castle reassures me." His gaze drew over Oikawa. "I wish I could say the same for you."

Wincing, Oikawa glanced away, his fingers picking at the edge of his sleeve. "I -" he hesitated, acutely aware that Kindaichi was outside the door, along with Daichi's own guard. He squared his shoulders, resetting his expression, slipping back into his act. 

"Well," he began, his words curling like smoke around his tongue, "Of course you should be reassured that I'm here! After all, if not for me you'd be strung up in the marketplace by now!"

His cheery words didn't seem to affect Daichi, who raised his substantial eyebrows, tearing apart a roll of bread. "That's true. I never thanked you for that, did I?"

His controlled tone gave nothing away. Oikawa wasn’t sure if Daichi trusted him or not, but he was here to find out. 

"You were locked up in the dungeons," Oikawa reminded him. "I think that excuses you from social cues. Frankly, the fact that you were still able to walk was impressive to me. I've seen spirits and legs broken from the chains down there in a day, never mind a week."

Daichi's chewing slowed, and he stared down at the plate, swallowing hard. Something harrowed passed across his expression, and Oikawa regretted bringing it up. Before he could swoop in with another topic change, Daichi looked up, his bruised face clear and calm again, and spoke. 

“Speaking of social cues, I owe you an apology.”

Oikawa tilted his head. “Why?”

“That night Iwaizumi visited you drunk… I might’ve asked Akaashi to… alter his emotions a bit. He’s not able to heighten anything, he only suppressed a few things he was feeling, and well, whatever was left sent him to you.”

Feeling his lips part in surprise, Oikawa blinked hard, shock running through him. “Why would you do that?”

Oikawa could hear the bitterness in his own voice, as carefully regulated as it was. 

“Iwaizumi’s… how do I put this… a bit apprehensive of a steady relationship after Ushijima. He thinks it’ll affect his judgement like it did before. He’s probably right too.” 

“So you decided to… push him towards me? Or whatever fucking voodoo shit Akaashi does with emotions? While he’s drunk?" Oikawa felt irritation rising in him, infecting his voice. He shook his head. "Why did you think that was a good idea?"

Daichi leaned forwards, dropping the bread back onto the plate. “I knew he’d never make his feelings towards you clear while he was sober. I wanted to give you two the option at least, knowing how you both felt.” 

“Well, congratulations." Oikawa couldn't shove the sourness out of his tone. "Ever think that there were reasons why we wouldn’t work together? Good reasons?” 

“There are always reasons,” Daichi said gently. “There are always obstacles. Iwaizumi knows all of those, and those doubts were keeping him from talking to you. Akaashi only dampened down his reservations - I assure you, he didn't heighten any affections. And…” Daichi paused. “That night, when we were all drinking, all he could talk about was you.” 

Oikawa rested the side of his head against the bars, the cold metal. “As it should be. I’m perfect.” 

The words rang out in his ears as hollow as the bars encasing Daichi. Oikawa inhaled, trying to steady the wobbly feeling in his chest, the wavering of his breath. Hajime. It hurt to think of him for too long. He might've judged that leaving was the right choice for himself, for Tobio, for the kingdom, but he'd given up Hajime. It had to be worth it. Oikawa would make it worth it. 

Oikawa blinked. He was getting distracted. Had Daichi planned this? His eyes skirted sideways, across to Daichi comfortably munching on a baked potato, and thought about how suited Suga was to him.

“What about you?” Oikawa asked dimly. “How did you meet Sugawara? He’s quite the cunning one. I really thought that she was going to outmanoeuvre him, definitely with scouting out the Westlands more, but he held his own."

"Well, what can I say that you haven't seen already? He's the smartest person I know."

"Offended, but continue."

Daichi chuckled weakly. "I was with Iwaizumi at the time, actually. I think his attention was directed elsewhere though, he always was sidetracked by a pretty face."

Oikawa huffed out a breath, and Daichi snorted. "You're included in that too, you know."

"I'm stunningly and breathtakingly handsome, not pretty," Oikawa insisted, a hand lifting to brush across his jaw. "Look at me."

Daichi raised his eyebrows. "I am."

Oikawa felt a pout coming on. He hated it when people called him pretty. He was a _man,_ and sure, men like Akaashi could be construed as beautiful, but when it was all they saw… 

Iwaizumi's words rose to the front of his mind. 

_...pretty neck…_

Oikawa ringed a hand around the back of his heated neck, rubbing. That was different. 

“Any particular reason why you’re blushing?” 

Oikawa spluttered, caught off guard. “No!” 

Taking another mouthful of potatoes, Daichi nodded his head wisely. "Hm. Uh-huh," he said around the mash in his mouth, then swallowed. "No reason at all, I'm sure."

"Shut up," Oikawa hissed. "I'm here to pry all of the Form's secrets from you, not to let you embarrass me.” 

Daichi gave him a warped smile. "Kae already tried that. What makes you think you'll be any more successful than her?"

"Because of my natural charm, of course!" Oikawa winked at him, and Daichi took another spoonful, unimpressed. "Hm. Go on. Show me it, then."

"Excuse you," Oikawa huffed out, flicking his fringe over his eyes. "I absolutely _ooze_ charm-"

Daichi's lips trembled, and he coughed, covering up a chuckle. "In any case, what do you want to know?"

Pressing his lips together, Oikawa tilted his head back. He wasn’t giving him the information that easily, was he? “You know how your Lady or whatever gives you…" Oikawa waved a hand in the air. "Other abilities apart from what's passed down in white."

Daichi cocked an eyebrow. "Did Iwaizumi tell you that?"

"Um," Oikawa said, recalling Iwaizumi's warning. "Maybe. But moving on - why don't you use yours to get out of here? And what's Hajime's ability?"

Regarding him with a stern gaze, Daichi continued to eat silently. 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Oikawa sighed. "Sawamura-kun, I saved your life. Back there, you were about to be gutted. The reason you're alive is because of me intervening. I'm not going to tell Kae what you tell me, and I'm not even looking for much. Don't you have any sense of debt?" Oikawa met his eyes. "You lived to see your precious Koushi again because of me."

Daichi stopped chewing. He inhaled, dropping his face, his strong chin almost bobbing down to his chest. He closed his eyes briefly. "Fine. But after this, we're even."

Glancing up again, Oikawa had to swallow hard, bracing himself against the resolution in those hazel eyes. He nodded. "Even."

"My gift is that I can carry anything as long as my feet are on the earth," Daichi told him, gesturing to the aforementioned limbs. "Quite literally anything, I've caught Iwaizumi once when he jumped off one of the buildings in the market sector." 

Oikawa balked. "The five storey ones?"

Daichi grinned widely. "Yup. His gift is a little more subtle, but it's hunting, and tracking. He can survive easily in any condition. Surely you noticed that he was good at that while travelling? He always manages to find meat, even if there's snow."

Oikawa felt himself scowling. "I thought he was just good at it from years of practice."

"Even years of practice can't explain finding an abundance of raqs on mountains."

"Yeah, well…" Oikawa turned his chin upwards. "I didn't notice because I was always smart enough to buy enough food for the journey in the first place." 

He left out his first trip to the North. That didn't count - he was young and stupid - well, as stupid as he could be, which wasn't a lot, more like less of a genius, but still. He tucked up his legs underneath him as they ate, chatting away. Oikawa was careful to not press Daichi for any more information - as much as he wanted to mediate things between Kae and the Form, Daichi was already suspicious. So he kept the conversation light, ticking over how him and Sugawara met, Daichi filling him in on how Iwaizumi was more hotheaded when he was younger, more impatient. Oikawa could imagine him like that - grumpier, quick to draw his sword, but he was glad he met the softened warrior. 

If he had met Iwaizumi back then, would he have even given Oikawa the time of day? 

As he left Daichi's cell, an empty plate in hand, he saw Suga at the end of the corridor. He had shed his cloak, instead draping it over his arm, his shirt shimmering as he moved. 

"Oikawa."

Sugawara beckoned him over, and Oikawa felt Kindaichi's gaze on him, warning him. He brushed it off, curious as to what Suga could want from him. Perhaps he didn't want anything, and he was simply there to stab Oikawa for allowing Daichi to endure such bad conditions. Oikawa wouldn't blame him. 

But Sugawara only rested a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer than necessary. 

"Will you do me a favour, Oikawa?"

Oikawa angled his head. "That depends on the favour, my dearest Suga-kun."

"I only want you to take a trip down to the market for me," Suga told him. "I'm sure you can understand why I am eager to spend every available moment with Daichi, and I want to surprise him with some of his favourite food, sugar buns. I believe they're available down in the main market?"

"Hm? Am I your servant now?" Oikawa questioned, and Sugawara laughed quietly, his fringe sweeping gently over his forward. "No, not at all! I just don't trust her servants to choose the right one. However, a man of taste like yourself would surely pick out the best one. And… it would make negotiations go a lot smoother in future."

"Is that a threat?"

Sugawara looked shocked. "No! I was just saying that we would both be very personally grateful for you to fetch it. Her servants look overworked as it is, trying to provide for the soldiers."

"And I look like I've nothing better to do?"

"It was only a friendly suggestion." Sugawara drew back his finger and tapped it against Oikawa's nose with a winning smile. "And I thought it might be a useful way to make up for Daichi's treatment prior to now, no? Did I assume wrongly of the great Oikawa Tooru's kindness?"

Oikawa wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to someone being more charming than him, somehow injecting more half-shadowed threats into their lighthearted words than him. 

"My deepest apologies," he said with a biting smile, resting his hand over his heart. "I may appear spritely and carefree, but I have responsibilities to tend to. May I suggest sending a servant boy, or even a guard to fetch what you require? The future of this kingdom hangs upon the solidness of my negotiations and contracts. You understand, don't you, Suga-kun?"

Sugawara's grin grew sharper, and abruptly, Oikawa realised he had walked himself into a trap. Of his own design, no less. 

"Is this not part of that?" Sugawara asked warmly, spreading his hands. "Hosting your allies, making them as amenable as possible to any alterations to the contracts? Kae did ask for more than agreed, after all. Should I not have the same courtesy extended to me?"

Oikawa grit his teeth. On the outside, he plastered a reassuring smile on, as stiff as a corpse. "Of course. I apologise for any indication that would make you believe otherwise."

"Ah, what a relief!" Sugawara smacked his shoulder, hard, and Oikawa was left with a throbbing patch of skin, despite Suga's open hand. "Your personal touch will make all the difference! You're really coming through, thank you!"

Oikawa nodded, keeping in a wince. 

As soon as he was out of sight, he grimaced, rubbing his shoulder. He was certain that even Hajime hadn't hit him as hard while they were sparring with rods. Still, the blow was nothing compared to his hurting pride. He'd been outplayed. 

With a sigh, he turned to Kindaichi. "Come on. We're going to the market. Let's make this quick."

Fuck. 

"Mm? How did the negotiating go?" Tendou bounced up to Oikawa as he left the castle. 

"Don't you know already?" Oikawa replied, not slowing his pace at all. "Can't you tell the future?" 

"Sometimes. Maybe, maybe not. Depends on the timeline," Tendou jabbered out, keeping pace with him, and Oikawa felt a storm invade his head. He fucking hated deities. 

They lived for so long, with varying degrees of power, that the stronger ones were arrogant to the point of thinking they were unstoppable, and the weaker ones seemed to leak into Katachi for a quick power trip. Sometimes, they set up small religions, cults based around their "miracles," or sometimes they were only there to terrorise the humans, like in "the good old days." Oikawa felt his tongue curling up in disgust. He knew he shouldn't judge Tendou's intentions from other deities, but it appeared he was here for entertainment and nothing more. 

"Well then," Oikawa said smoothly. "Let me help you narrow it down. We're in the timeline where you leave me alone as soon as I finish speaking. Does that help?"

"Hm," Tendou mused, his eyes flickering over Oikawa. "Your dad was right. You are mean-spirited."

Oikawa felt the edges of his smile crumble, and he strode forwards, grasping for Tendou's shirt, but he dodged backwards, sticking out his tongue. 

"My father's words count for nothing," Oikawa gritted out. Then he blinked, inhaling, straightening out his shoulders. Smile on. "Won't it be a lot more amiable if you cooperated with me? As you said earlier, we're all on the same side here."

"You were the one rude to me first," Tendou pointed out, and Oikawa's hands drew around each other, rigidly flexing. 

"My apologies," he answered. "I'm under quite a bit of stress at the moment, and I would appreciate it if you didn't interrupt me."

Tendou bowed again with a flourish, pulling out the side of his cloak to let it drag in the wind. "Apology accepted! Next time you're going to buy a sugar bun, I'll be certain to never interrupt your important business!"

Oikawa stepped back, towards Kindaichi, who was wisely keeping his mouth shut. "Thank you, Tendou. May I ask, what are you doing out in the courtyard? Shouldn't you be with Kae and her generals?"

"I'm keeping the soldiers' morale up, obviously!" he chirped out, snapping upright, and a puff of red smoke exploded from his sleeves. Kindaichi lept forwards as Oikawa raised his hands protectively in front of his face, Tendou's laugh doing nothing to ease his nerves. 

"Relax, it's just magic!" Tendou announced, spreading his fingers in the air, through the lingering smoke. "Look!"

In it, Oikawa saw figures move around, trees forming and shrivelling up, mountains raising and flattening, arrows hitting chests and stones cracking against skulls. He blinked, and suddenly the red smoke was just that - red smoke, being torn away by the breeze. 

Kindaichi uneasily stepped back. Oikawa shot a look at the soldiers behind Tendou, drinking with one eye on the deity. They shifted, knuckles whitening around the handles. 

Tendou sighed, his hands falling back to his sides. "You didn't like it? Maybe I should work harder on it. Anyways, you'll want to be getting down to the market now, Ru-kun. Something tells me that you'll want to be there!"

He winked, and turned back to the group of soldiers, who barely bothered to hide their grimaces. Despite himself, Oikawa felt a spike of pity for him - or even empathy. He knew what it was like to be ostracized. 

"What did he mean by that?" Kindaichi asked, a fold between his eyebrows. 

Waving a hand, Oikawa dismissed him, continuing on the path out the front archway. The coins attached to his belt clinked as he moved. "Who knows. Deities are unpredictable, and often their egos are stronger than their powers. All I know is that if dear old Suga wants sugar buns, he's going to get them." 

"You sound bitter," Kindaichi said as he trailed after Oikawa, who was setting a furious pace, people drifting out of his way. 

"You don't say," Oikawa said dryly. 

Oikawa's mood hadn't improved by the time they reached the outer gate of the market. 

He groaned, tracking the throngs of people shuffling around the streets, hunched in doorways against the brutal wind. It was busy, and Oikawa's hands were already growing numb from the winter wind. He could've brought gloves, but he had been so pissed off it had slipped his mind. 

Fighting the urge to ask Kindaichi to take off his gloves, Oikawa balled up his hands in his cloak sleeves, slipping into the forward surging stream of people, careful to keep his head low. It was unlikely that he would be recognised - but if he was, he would be recognised as a traitor to the king. Now, where the _fuck_ was that one specific baker's stall? If it was down by the bottom ring Oikawa was spitting on it before giving it to Sugawara. 

Oikawa grabbed Kindaichi's arm, pulling him in front of him. "Okay, time to make use of your stupid height. Can you see where the sugar buns are?"

"Uh…" Kindaichi balanced himself on the tips of his toes, sticking up his chin to try and survey the crowd. 

He stood a good head taller than most people, and yet he still got pushed side to side by the people passing. Shaking his head, Oikawa steadied him by the elbow, shooting looks at whoever tried to give them a glare for holding up the tight flow of bodies. 

"I think they're to the right, near that orange tarp?" 

Oikawa breathed a sigh of relief, pushing Kindaichi out in front of him. "You are useful for more than just watching me piss after all. Thank the gods. Lead the way, you tall child."

Everyone stank. 

Oikawa was forced to suppress his Breath back down into the bellows of himself just to stand it. He hated it, the throngs of people pressing up against him, dragging and pulling, shuffling against each other. It brought him back to the time before the king's castle, when he had to survive on his wits, exchanging healing while dodging suspicion. He kept one hand on Kindaichi's back, letting the scrawny guard part most of the people for him. Still, hatred coiled deep in his gut, despite the spinning colours of the merchants' coverings, the calls and haggles winding into his ears. 

He grit his teeth, following Kindaichi's lead.

And then -

Oikawa stopped dead, his head snapping to the side. He hadn't seen - had he? Had that been an outcropping of black hair, spiked up? Black was a common hair colour, Oikawa told himself, scanning the group of stalls where he thought he'd seen the flash of sallow skin. The broad shoulders he'd glimpsed out of the corner of his eye could always have been a trick of his mind, the flow of people passing over his line of sight deceptive -

A gap opened up within the bodies. Oikawa's mouth ran dry, his heart thudding in irregular beats. Thump. The pulse fired in his neck as he stared at the men to his left, standing in front of a stall of fish, bags criss-crossed across their expansive backs. 

Iwaizumi didn’t appear to be wearing his usual leather armour, only civilian clothing, his belt sloping down at one side the only indication of any weapons. Oikawa noticed that his gloves were fingerless, rich black material stopping at the ends of his digits, just past the knuckle. 

Ushijima stood beside him, surveying the produce on offer, and although their voices were lost in the crowd's murmuring, Oikawa still heard Iwaizumi's hum in his head. He knew that gesture, how his shoulders shrugged when he was deciding, how it was coupled with that damn hum. 

Over the past week, he'd realised he'd known a lot more about Hajime than he had consciously thought of, or noticed. He was so focused on Hajime learning how to read him that it had almost totally skipped by him that he, too, could read Iwaizumi like a book with a word per page. 

He backstepped, and almost knocked into Kindaichi. 

"Oikawa-sama?"

Oikawa's throat was acrid, and he could only stare at the back of Iwaizumi's neck, the tease of tanned skin above his hemline, the little baby black spikes protruding out. Under his gaze, Iwaizumi shifted, his shoulders flexing, and then glanced over his shoulder. 

Their eyes met, and panic twisted through Oikawa, ripping through his blood. He stumbled back a step, bumping into another person. He spun around, lifting a hand, speaking through a strangled throat. 

"Sorry!" 

He winced as his voice came out, twice as high-pitched than usual. They shot him a weird look and moved on, and Oikawa's fist clenched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kindaichi frown underneath his helmet. "Oikawa-sama, are you -"

"Oikawa."

Hajime's voice. It bounced off the back of Oikawa's neck, close, too close. He didn't dare turn around. Oikawa desperately delved forwards, shoving people aside, gaining a lot of annoyed grunts and calls after him, but he didn't slow down, moving fast and precise into any gaps he saw, praying Iwaizumi's bulkier stature would cause him to fall behind. 

By the time he stopped, he was breathing hard, and as he looked around him, he realised that he'd lost Kindaichi as well. He cursed lowly, ducking into a gap between buildings. He'd have to go back to that fucking stall and buy Sugawara his stupid baked sugar buns himself. Unless Kindaichi had the presence of mind to buy them, but he suspected that he was probably freaking out about having lost his mark.

As Oikawa twisted around the corner, he allowed himself to relax. He had to have lost him -

"Oikawa." Iwaizumi was there, striding down from the mouth of the alley. His expression was dark. "Stop avoiding me. I have to speak to you."

How had he -

_Iwaizumi's gift is tracking._

Ah. Even if their gifts didn’t work directly on deities, Oikawa didn’t think that the trails he left behind counted. 

Oikawa inhaled, swift and shallow. Hajime still smelled of lilies. 

But mostly sweat.

"What, am I in trouble with the great leader of the Form?" Oikawa said lightly, not slowing his pace, breezing past Iwaizumi. "Mm, I'm dreadfully sorry to disappoint, but I'm busy today. Try again next week, would you?"

"Don't pull this shit on me now," came the rumble from behind him, and Oikawa only shrugged, continuing on his way. He heard steps as Iwaizumi turned around, even through the thickness of the crowd's noise, through the wind snapping the hanging clothes in the air. 

"What, as you so elegantly put it, shit?" Oikawa asked, keeping his voice bouncy, detached. He didn't turn around. He was nearly at the edge of the crowd. He didn't think he could keep this up for long if he saw Iwaizumi's face, all of his feelings written across them so clearly. He knew what he would see.

He turned when he felt the tug on his arm, though, fingers wrapping around his wrist, just below his dagger strap. Rotating around, he arched his eyebrows at Iwaizumi, who was regarding him stoically, examining the curves of Oikawa's face as if he could pull the answers he wanted from the pinch of his cheeks, the inclination of his brow, the sweep of his hair. 

What made Oikawa uneasy was that he wasn’t certain that Iwaizumi couldn’t. 

"You know." Iwaizumi glowered at him, holding his wrist. Oikawa felt a tug in his chest. Hajime looked utterly lost, confusion mingling into anger. “What did she say to you? Why did you suddenly leave?”

“If you can't figure that part out yourself, I can’t tell you," Oikawa answered airily, waving his free hand. "You’ll just tell the Form."

Iwaizumi's impassive expression broke, blinking hard as he furrowed his brow. His fingers constricted around Oikawa’s wrist, hot fingertips pushing down on his pulse. “Oikawa, talk to me, for the Lady's sake - I told you everything I could! And I probably told you more than I should've too-"

Oikawa tilted his head, draining his smile away. “And look how well that turned out.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth tightened. "What are you saying?" 

“It doesn’t matter,” Oikawa continued. “We’re on opposite sides. Now, kindly let go of me before I decide to kill you.” 

A shadow crossed Iwaizumi's brow. “You’re with her now, aren't you? You left me - us for _her_."

“I told you she was making sense." Oikawa shrugged, twisting his wrist. His jaw clenched. Iwaizumi's clasp was far too strong, and he had to jerk his whole shoulder back to get it free. 

“And you told me you weren’t going to her side.” Stepping in, Iwaizumi gripped Oikawa’s shirt collar, drawing him closer so they were eye to eye. “You joined her. Were- “ his voice faltered. "Were you with her all along?"

"If I was with her from the start, she would've never had to retrieve the heir in the first place. I'm better than that." Annoyance closed around Oikawa's throat. “I know you're a bit slow, Iwa-chan, but surely even you grasp that you can’t understand my situation. You hide your true power - you don't understand why -"

“I do!" Iwaizumi's fist closed around the fabric, and all Oikawa could think was that it'd leave creases. "I do understand what it’s like to be cast out and beaten down, and so do you! Do you understand that that’s what makes you joining her so much worse? You _know_ what it’s like out there, and no all-powerful person in a castle can change people’s attitudes overnight! All we can do is keep our heads down and help others when we can, and we’ll be okay. People will change eventually, but it won’t come from a lofty council locked up in a castle. It’ll come from being out there, being with people, running the risk so others don’t have to!” 

Oikawa dug his fingernails into Iwaizumi's wrist, tilting his chin up. Iwaizumi's mouth downturned even more, knowing Oikawa was doing that to exploit their heights, to look down on him physically too. 

“Says the one who dyes his white," Oikawa began, the scorn feeling like sour milk on his tongue. "As if you’re not afraid of them too - if you had the chance for protection you’d take it."

Iwaizumi opened his mouth, but Oikawa got there first. 

"- and if you deny that you’re a fucking liar on top of everything else!” 

“Ever asked yourself how is she achieving that? Because I can tell you sure as shit it won’t be good for this kingdom. Her power is unnatural -"

“You’re not a Breather," Oikawa spoke coolly, waving a hand in dismissal. "You wouldn’t get it.” 

The centre of Iwaizumi’s irises flashed white, and his grip on Oikawa grew stronger. He could feel the hems of his collar bite into the back of his neck, forced to lean forwards onto his toes to keep balance. Closing both hands around Iwaizumi’s wrists, he dipped his face forwards, staring at Iwaizumi, noses almost touching. 

“Take your hands off of me.” 

Oikawa's voice was no more than a whisper, a breath made of fire and stone. 

“I thought you were better than this,” Iwaizumi said. His tone was flat. “I really did.” 

“Take your hands off of me or I’ll use force.” 

Iwaizumi's eyes narrowed, his breathing heavy. Oikawa never dropped his steel gaze. After a few moments, Iwaizumi released him, shaking his head in disgust. Oikawa cleared his throat, ringing a finger around the top hem of his shirt, detaching it from his damp neck. Iwaizumi's eyelashes had shifted downwards for an instant. Oikawa's heart felt like it was about to spill out of his mouth, thundering hard and fast within him. 

He’d thought that Iwaizumi was going to kiss him. 

"You truly are a brute, you know that?"

He examined Iwaizumi’s eyes to see if the whiteness had faded, but all he saw was… glistening? Oikawa blinked, looking again, shock whipping through him. With a harsh exhale, Iwaizumi stepped backwards, rubbing his sleeve over his eyes. Oikawa found himself raising a hand, reaching out, but he stopped himself. He was the last person Iwaizumi wanted to comfort him. Maybe he’d go to Ushijima for that. 

The thought left a bitter taste in Oikawa’s mouth. 

He grabbed Iwaizumi's shoulder, forcing him to focus on Oikawa. His glare cut over to him, dampened by the gleam in his eyes, and yet, Oikawa felt anything but satisfied. 

“It’s your fault,” Oikawa said. “It’s your own fault for thinking I was better than I am.” 

Iwaizumi shook his head, and he reached out a hand, the back of his fingers caressing Oikawa's cheek. There was a sadness to his touch that sapped all of the fight out of Oikawa. 

"It's your fault for not being better. Because I know you could be." And then, with an edge of desperation -"You still can be."

Oikawa's jaw clenched, and he smacked Iwaizumi's hand away from his face. "Well, I'm not. And I'm not going to join your little cult of order, or worship your dumb goddess. I know the reality of it. And I know if I had stayed, things wouldn’t change. People like your granny are still going to suffer. Like that boy. I've tried changing people's attitudes like you have for years. Nothing has worked, and I've had enough." 

Retreating, Iwaizumi dropped his hands, snapping them up into fists. "I suppose I should be grateful that you’re thinking about something other than yourself. For once in your life."

"I'm…" the denial died out at the back of Oikawa's throat. He breathed in, deep, centering himself. "It doesn't matter. You and I are enemies now. I should kill you when I still have the chance."

Iwaizumi rested a hand on his hilt. "I don't want to kill you. Don't force me to."

Oikawa's Breath stopped in his mouth, freezing his tongue. He swallowed it back down. 

"On second thoughts, how about we pretend we never saw each other and let someone else do the killing? It's so uncivilised."

Saying those words, he almost felt normal. As if Yahaba was going to round the corner and ask for more training. 

Iwaizumi's mouth quirked upwards for a trok, but quickly dropped down again. "Fine. But tell me if Daichi's alright. After everything, you can do that much, can't you?" 

"He's fine," Oikawa said quietly. He hesitated, wondering if he should go on. "She wanted to display his corpse as a warning to you-"

Iwaizumi's iron expression cracked, his hands rising up. Despite himself, Oikawa felt glad that his hand was off the hilt of his sword. 

"But I managed to convince her to use him to secure Sugawara's cooperation instead."

His eyes slitted. “So you did actually do something kind of good. Blackmail instead of death.” 

Oikawa tried to ignore how the words formed into daggers mid-air, plunging deep in between his ribs. 

“I saved him, yes. He’s okay for now - there’s no way Suga’s going to do what she wants without her having leverage over him.” Oikawa closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the hatred in Iwaizumi‘s eyes, the coldness of his mouth. “This is the best way to protect him.”

“And yourself.” 

Iwaizumi’s voice was hard. 

“That is an added benefit, yes," Oikawa chirped back lightly. He felt like he was running out of breath, unable to catch air in the wind spiralling past. He began to turn away from Iwaizumi's blistering stare. It was almost as if he could feel his anger gathering under his skin, festering and itching. "Now, if you don't mind, I've to -"

"You're still the same selfish bastard I met in the caves," Iwaizumi burst out, and Oikawa recoiled, blinking. "I-"

"Don't even try to defend yourself." Iwaizumi's mouth was trembling. "I can't believe I thought that there was more to you than…" He gestured at Oikawa's formal clothing, exhaling roughly. "This. Than your desire to protect yourself. You think a murderer can remove the fear of magickers from this land? You never struck me as stupid but you really think that someone like her could change how people see magickers?“ 

“And your hands aren’t bloody?” Oikawa challenged. “You’ve killed more than her in the time since I’ve met you. Maybe that's what change needs."

He glared into Iwaizumi’s eyes, daring him to rebuff him. He could feel his pulse in his neck, throbbing with every instant of silence Iwaizumi let drop. 

“I never claimed to be anything more than a killer,” Iwaizumi said, and his deep voice was soft. 

Oikawa couldn't do anything but watch as he walked away. He didn't look back, and Oikawa's ribcage cracked over his heart. He wanted to call him back, to kiss him and press him back against the wall, to forget about sides and war. 

A half-word swelled in his throat, but it was stifled. A dark grey sensation overran his chest, his mouth dry and tasting of bitter beer. He knew he should be feeling triumphant, he won the argument. Iwaizumi hadn't defended himself against the killer accusation or attacked his decision further. It was his victory. Oikawa's win. His hands folded up, squeezing, squeezing. 

Oikawa was left with the image of Iwaizumi’s broad back retreating away from him, feeling his fingernails carve little graves into his palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would die for kindaichi.  
> thank you to everyone who leaves comments, they are always adored <33


	15. Evoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's difficult to live beside your past.  
> Sometimes consequences come to the wrong people.  
> Sometimes it's tiring to question everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I hope you are all staying safe and well, and enjoy this chapter!  
> tw// tiny, offhand mention of suicide

Oikawa exhaled, and concentrated on uncurling his fists. 

He had enough to worry about without Hajime. 

Iwaizumi. Not Hajime. The mental correction hurt. He tried to take a breath in and realised his throat was clogged, the pressure in his chest creeping up his neck, numbing his cheeks, building painfully behind his eyes. He forced himself to breathe, keep his eyes open, squinting to fight back the watering edges of his vision. 

Dipping his head, Oikawa wiped a sleeve across his eyes. Once. Only once. Oikawa Tooru was better than this. He knew Iwaizumi would react like that. He had known from the moment he left. He could handle it. 

Oikawa Tooru, the kingdom’s voice, smoothed over the creases in his collar, squared his shoulders and strode out of the alley. 

He emerged to the sight of Kindaichi's armoured head, clearly pointed and visible amongst the normal-sized villagers, swaying unnaturally. 

"Fuck the gods," Oikawa cursed beneath his breath, moving towards him. He didn't look for Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eye. He didn't. He didn't look for spiked hair, for a flash of leather, for the back of a tanned neck. 

He moved swiftly forwards, through the stream of people. Around him, voices became irritable, raised, the closer he got to Kindaichi, the worse it became. Dissent murmurs, people in a circle around the commotion, staring and parting but scared to stop and watch. 

The tall moron was facing off against three men that looked like they could snap each one of his limbs in half and then strip off his flesh with their bare teeth. They were wearing red and black, and Oikawa suppressed a sigh. He could guess what this was about already. His eyes cut across to any skin exposed - and sure enough, he caught a hint of white at one of the men's hairy necks, just about covered by the hem of his black shirt. Red scarves were tied around their wrists, matching the colour scheme of the flag flying over the castle, pinned to the outside walls. 

Oikawa's lips ran thin, stretched out over his teeth. 

He strode up to Kindaichi, pushing one last person aside. "Kindaichi, what are you doing?"

Kindaichi pointed at the man in the middle, whose scowl only deepened. “He was slandering Torem’s legacy! And he won't apologise for what he said -"

“Oh, for the gods’ sake, it's not worth it,” Oikawa snapped out, yanking Kindaichi’s arm. He nodded at the man. “I apologise on his behalf.” 

The man crossed his arms over his chest, his folded-up sleeves strained flat against his muscles. “No. He apologises to me himself.”

“That won’t -“ Kindaichi started, until Oikawa shot him a sharp glare. “Kindaichi-“

“What was that? Care to finish the thought, lanky asshole?” The man rumbled out. 

Oikawa closed his eyes, inhaling swiftly. He did _not_ need this right now.

“I will make sure you personally receive a handwritten letter of apology from the central castle,” he said calmly, pushing Kindaichi to the side, nearing the flow of passing people. "Unfortunately, right now we have urgent business to attend to…"

Two of the men stepped into their path. The butt of Kindaichi’s spear left the ground, and Oikawa’s fingers closed around his wrist, jolting it back down with a thud. Kindaichi furrowed his brow down at Oikawa, who shook his head. He refused to let this escalate further. 

The man wasn't moved. “Not good enough.”

“Oikawa-sama, you’re not going to take this, are you?” Kindaichi asked. His knuckles were white, clenching around his spear shaft. “You served under Torem as well, you knew him better than anyone-“

Grabbing Kindaichi’s shoulder, Oikawa yanked him down, eyes meeting on the same level. Kindaichi's eyes were wide, freaked, but held determination, a drive that wasn't deserved. 

“Torem might have been a good king, but he wasn’t a good man. We’re trying to build something new here,” Oikawa hissed out. “Don’t you dare taint that by hanging onto the past and his shitty ideals. Apologise. Now.” 

He saw surprise fracture through Kindaichi’s determination- his innocent blinks only making frustration roil in Oikawa’s gut. 

“But… Torem kept the order, we kept the order -“

Oikawa recognised the words. It was the mantra all king’s guards were required to repeat and memorise. Disgust churned his blood to poison. 

“Well?” The man demanded, and Oikawa’s fingers dug into Kindaichi’s shoulder. 

He used his iciest glower, and Kindaichi faltered, his eyes diverting away. Oikawa’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Apologise.” 

Kindaichi swallowed as Oikawa let him go, turning back to the man with a smooth smile. “I apologise for the wait. Kindaichi-kun, I believe you have something to say?” 

Kindaichi looked like he was forcing out the words through a mouthful of vomit. 

“I’m sorry.”

“That didn’t sound very sincere -“

The men pushed forwards, and Oikawa stepped forwards too. “He apologised as you wanted. And because I’m so nice, I’ll give you a bit of free advice.” Oikawa’s voice hardened. “Do not push your luck. Not here. Not today.” 

“Hm?” The man tilted his head back, surveying Oikawa. “Really? What are you going to do, now?” 

Oikawa’s dagger flashed in the evening light. Blood ran down the front of his shirt, and satisfaction flooded through Oikawa. It had been a while since someone had underestimated him. He staggered backwards, palming the front of his chest, eyes wide. People around began to take notice - wavering backwards, creating space around Oikawa, in a halo form. As it should be. 

Nobody screamed. They were too used to bloodshed by now, unpredictable changeovers of powers that lead to no guards, criminals and bullies able to attack unchecked. Like the one currently at Oikawa’s feet, breathing harshly and frantically pressing the material of his shirt over the gash in his chest. 

Bending down, Oikawa plucked up some clean material from the end of his shirt and used it to wipe the blood off of the blade. 

“You - you fucker!” The man blathered out, and Oikawa noticed an influx of power. His hand began raising. 

Oikawa reacted instantly, angling his spotless dagger at the man’s thick neck.

“You’re welcome to try it,” Oikawa said softly. 

He felt a smile sneak around his lips as he traced the man’s throat, watching his Adam’s Apple shift upwards, downwards. Motionless, the mans lips quivered, stuck on how the tip of Oikawa's blade drifted across his skin. Oikawa inhaled. His fear smelled like grease, the inside of a burnt-out oil lamp. After a long, still moment, Oikawa dropped his hand. 

He straightened, levelling his gaze at the other two. “Do you two feel any luckier?”

They scattered out into the crowd. Oikawa heaved a sigh, sheathing his dagger again. All of this for some fucking sugar buns. 

“I could’ve taken them on,” Kindaichi told him as they moved towards the stand, everyone parting for them.

Oikawa felt the edge of his mouth quirk upwards. “I’ll note that for next time. But you're welcome for the bail out. You could've been seriously hurt. Choose your battles more wisely next time. Torem can't exactly be grateful for your loyalty now, can he?"

Kindaichi stayed quiet. "I guess. But Oikawa-sama, where did you go? Why did you suddenly run away from that guy -“

“Well, if you had kept up and did your job as a guard instead of picking pointless fights, you would know, wouldn’t you?” 

Oikawa knew he'd been too harsh. Kindaichi's form slumped, and Oikawa sighed. "I didn't - forget it.” 

“It's okay… was...” Kindaichi licked his lips. “Was Torem really that bad?” 

Oikawa chose a few buns, thinking as he dropped coins into the vendor’s palm. He curled his fingers around the cloth. “He wasn’t… bad. I wouldn’t say that. He could lead and inspire loyalty, but whether he was deserving of that loyalty is another question.” 

He reached up and tapped a finger against the side of Kindaichi’s helmet. “Just because someone’s in charge doesn’t mean they’re perfect or infallible. Forget what they taught you in the guard, okay? You don’t have to defend him.” 

“But…” Kindaichi looked down. “I… I guess.” 

Oikawa snorted. “You shouldn’t take my word as infallible, either. Question everything.” 

“In the guard, guys who questioned things were beaten.” 

“Lucky for you, you’re not in Torem’s guard anymore. Please say you’ve noticed that much.” 

Kindaichi flushed, and Oikawa relented. He laid a hand on his shoulder, over the hard steel of his armour. “It’s a good thing. Be grateful.” A smile curved around his lips. “Now you have me, Oikawa-sama. Vastly better than the guard or Torem.” 

“O- Okay.”

“Was that hesitation I heard?” 

“No, Oikawa-sama!” 

  
  


Oikawa’s smile was tight as he handed over the baked goods. 

“Mm,” Suga opened the bag, eyelashes fluttering as he inhaled the scent floating upwards. “Thank you, Oikawa. They’ll revive our spirits a lot. Daichi’s got a bit of a sweet tooth, and it’s been a while since he’s been able to get his hands on these.” 

“Happy to hear it.” 

Oikawa’s gaze traced over the lines of Sugawara’s face - was it just him, or were there grey bags etched under his eyes that hadn’t been there before? 

“Don’t look so concerned!” Suga gave him a large smile. “I won’t ask you for any more until my envoy from Flightless arrives.”

“And who is that?”

Suga winked at him, biting into the corner of the lightly coated pastry. “It’s a surprise! But I think you two will get along, I really do! You’re both - ah, how does the expression go? Cut from the same cloth? That!” 

His teeth tore clean through the bread. 

“I’m sure we’ll get along." Oikawa spoke choosing every word cautiously. He had an inkling of who it might be, and he wasn't warming up to it at all. "I can get along seamlessly with anyone, after all.” 

“Exactly!” Sugawara beamed. “Look at us!” He clapped Oikawa’s shoulder, and Oikawa tilted his head. He returned the smack, ensuring his grin was blinding. 

“You understand me,” he told him with a nod. 

“Just like us too,” Tendou said, leaning over Oikawa's shoulder to wriggle his fingers above the bag. “Ooh, may I?” 

Oikawa tried to hide how his heart sped up, adrenaline whipping through his limbs. He hadn't sensed Tendou's approach at all. He'd forgotten that deities could move so silently, immune to his white-given senses. 

“Go right ahead.” Suga held open the bag’s top, and, darting around Oikawa, Tendou dipped his slender hand in. "Didn't you just miss human food, Ru-kun? It's no wonder you left Eurus, the food there isn't half as tasty. I could eat this until my stomach bursts open and then keep going."

Suga's gaze ghosted across to Oikawa as Tendou chewed vigorously, and Oikawa kept his expression fixed. He folded his hands behind his back, daring Suga to comment. Sugawara only turned away, striking up a conversation with Tendou. Oikawa felt a ripple of offence run through him - somehow, being ignored was even more irritating than having prying questions aimed at you. 

He huffed, spinning on his heel back around to Kindaichi. "Come on. I have more important things to do."

  
  


It took Iwaizumi and Ushijima three days to travel to the border of Katachi, a little south to where the scout had reported Kunimi was approaching from. If Kunimi was taking the optimal path - straight onwards - and following the trails, they should be able to intercept him. 

Iwaizumi wished there was something to break up the monotony of the journey. He would welcome an ambush at this point, anything at all to distract him from Oikawa’s last words. Ushijima was many things, but a conversationalist wasn't one of them. 

He spotted a discrepancy on the trail, and latched onto it, stopping. 

Vaulting off of his horse, Iwaizumi crouched by a hoofprint, and glanced up, eyes creasing. Was there a chance they had passed each other? Or was it another set of travellers? The tracks were of three, four horses maximum, with no grooves from a wagon. He straightened, thinking. It was unusual for lords to travel without lounging around in something a little more luxurious, but from what information they had gathered, Kunimi's kingdom wasn't faring too well. It was likely the main reason they'd agreed to meet with Kae at all - on their own, the Kunimi family held very little military might. They'd survived by allying themselves wisely, by outlasting any wars among the lords. 

"Any sign of him?" Ushijima asked, his own hazel eyes surveying the horizon. The sun was beginning to droop in the sky, burning out of daylight fast. 

Iwaizumi clicked his tongue in annoyance. Another day wasted. "I think they passed through here."

His gaze spun out farther, tracing the rocky landscape. Horses would have limited options - they wouldn't want to risk injuring any on the steeper slopes, so would probably stick to the lower areas, the thin passageways in between the mountainous slopes. He wished there was a wagon too - it would thin out their options even more. 

Ushijima hefted the reins. "Should we camp for the night?"

The wind skirted across Iwaizumi's face, chilling his skin. Something was held in it, an invitation or a warning. He glanced at the sky. His instincts were grating at him.

"We still have about an hour of daylight left. Let's try to gain ground on them, as they'll probably be stopped for the night."

Ushijima nodded. Iwaziumi rammed his foot into the stirrup and hopped up again. "Let's go."

The sounds of hooves clopping against rock drifted to Iwaizumi on the wind, and he held up a hand, halting. Ushijima stopped shortly after him, and Iwaizumi closed his eyes, concentrating on locating the noise. He wheeled to the right - the noise grew shaper, louder, and he nodded back to Ushijima. 

They dismounted, silently tying their horses to a nearby tree, semi-hidden by bushes. Iwaizumi prayed that this area was deserted enough for their horses to be there when they returned. They crept over the crest of the mountainside, keeping low. Iwaizumi's mouth was dry. Ushijima's footsteps were too loud. Exhaling, Iwaizumi pushed aside a low branch, the edges scraping his gloveless palms, and spotted a trail of three horses, pressing their way through the valley bottom. 

Fortunately, their backs were to them. Iwaizumi judged the distance between them - they weren't too far behind, the pace being a walk. Their lack of urgency made Iwaizumi frown, but he dismissed it. Kunimi wasn't known for being a particularly hasty lord. Skirting towards them, ensuring to keep themselves to the side and out of sight, they slowly closed the gap between them. Iwaizumi began to pick up on more details - the emblem on the cloth underneath the saddle, the little glint of silver along the tack, the high, proud way they all carried themselves. The one in the rear and front were constantly scanning their surroundings, and they kept low, brown cloaks blending into the hillside. 

Iwaizumi spotted a narrow opening ahead, and elbowed Ushijima’s ribs. “Look.”

“We're lucky,” Ushijima murmured underneath his breath, and Iwaizumi nodded. 

The steep, formidable slopes of the hills on either side would make it difficult for them to escape sideways - their only options were backwards or forwards. They pressed forwards, aiming to cut them off before they grew too far from their horses. 

In the fading light, Iwaizumi's eyes tried to pick out the lord - and his gaze swung to the figure in the middle. 

His complexion was milky, almost pallid, the same smoothness as Sugawara's. The two others, riding at the front and back, were less together, carried themselves with less of a regal hand on the reins. Iwaizumi couldn't place it, but there was something about the lethargic shift of his head, the groomed appearance of his inky, evenly parted hair that screamed lordship. 

He squinted, and surprise licked through him. He couldn't be him - Iwaizumi had assumed he was a man, but he was only a boy, definitely only in his teenage years. And surely he would travel with more than two guards? Glancing over to Ushijima, Iwaizumi read the same doubts in his narrowed brow and slightly upturned lip. Sometimes, it made him a little uneasy, how deftly Ushijima's emotions slotted into his mind, understanding after all of these years, still. 

"If he's not a lord, he has to be affiliated with one of them," Iwaizumi reasoned, and Ushijima nodded. "We are here to gain bargaining tools. I don't intend to squander this chance."

With that, he rose and began walking down the edge of the slope, his resistance to gravity allowing him to angle his body at almost ninety-degrees without losing his balance. Scrabbling down after him, Iwaizumi hoped that their judgement was right. 

As they drew nearer, crouching behind the vast rocks shorn from the sides of the valley, Iwaizumi could see the boy clearer. What he'd originally thought were white boots were little tears of paper, reaching all the way up to his thighs, and Iwaizumi frowned. He knew the Westlands were more accepting of magickers, and their society appeared to mostly get the balance right (although some regions were… questionable) but still, it was rare to see someone so blatant about it. 

He signalled to Ushijima, who crept forwards. Iwaizumi winced - stealth was not his forte, but it was even less of the case for Ushijima. He prayed that the darkness would cover his strong frame long enough to give them the advantage. 

It surprised him to see them continuing on in the dark. Was Kunimi that pressed to reach the castle? 

“We’re leaving the horses too far behind,” Iwaizumi whispered. “We can’t wait until they camp.” 

If they weren’t back soon, wild animals might start eying the ready-caught snacks. 

Ushijima nodded, hazel eyes scouring ahead. “They don't look like they intend to stop."

Iwaizumi hesitated. They could wait, continue along in the hopes of them stopping - but… Iwaizumi ran his eyes over the landscape, the one he'd spent years surveying, defending. He exchanged a glance with Ushijima, and read his own thoughts in his face. They wouldn't get another chance like this. 

"Let's go." 

With a nod, Ushijima straightened. And began to sprint. Gulping down a deep, long breath, Iwaizumi drove himself forwards too, skipping from stone to stone, avoiding tufts of grass, bolting after Ushijima's back. 

The first guard spotted them first, yelling back at the others. 

The horses started, tossing their heads back and fighting the rein, their butts veering over the path as their riders tried to gain control again. The boy in the middle lifted a hand, and the two guards - Iwaizumi assumed - nodded, bringing their rides to a halt. Ushijima pressed forwards, Iwaizumi by his shoulder. They would reach the first guard in a matter of troks.

The back guard leapt upwards, ripples already washing across his clothing like an invisible wind was whipping over him. As his fingers stretched out, feathers formed on his knuckles, nails curving into claws. Back arched into a monstrous hulk, streamlined and naked, the ridged spine poking up under thin parchment skin, he dived towards them, claws slashing through air with a whistle. 

Iwaizumi cursed. The Shifter had already deduced that they had no long-ranged weapons with them. An aerial form would be difficult to get to. As expected, Lord Kunimi had chosen smart people to defend him. 

The boy in the middle reined in his horse, watching them approach with an almost apathetic glare. He didn't seem to move at all as his guards flung themselves towards Iwaizumi and Ushijima, making no effort to flee. Hell, Iwaizumi wasn't complaining, but he had no time to mull over how weird it was with the guards falling on top of them- maybe he just had that much faith in his protectors? He slipped his sword out of its sheath, angling it diagonally upwards. The defensive position itself felt awkward, and a little bit of unease set itself into Iwaizumi's throat. He had to jerk the blade upwards over his head, and heard the shrieking of talons run along the metal, a horrendous grating that crept into his skin. 

Forced to halt, Iwaizumi stood back to back with Ushijima, eyes tracking the spiralling motion of the Shifter above them. 

It was too natural to fall back into his rhythm with Ushijima, the years of training, then fighting side by side aiding them now as they warded off the Shifter, but unable to land a solid blow. The Bricker shot up into the air, pulling out two short daggers. Iwaizumi got a glance at their shoes as they smoothly flipped forwards - boots with cloth soles. Him and Ushijima had to break apart to avoid them landing on top of them, slashing in a circle as soon as they did so, splitting them thoroughly. 

"You take the Bricker," Ushijima called out lowly to him, and Iwaizumi nodded, lunging forwards to engage them. 

A dagger shot past his cheek, and Iwaizumi barely managed to dodge. It had been a while since he'd fought a magicker - the Bricker pressed in closer, making it awkward for Iwaizumi to handle his sword. Gritting his teeth, Iwaizumi blocked their next attack with the hilt, deflecting and twisting. He felt the air shudder beside him, and he moved too slowly - their Brick hit into his shoulder, and Iwaizumi was slammed into the ground faster than he could blink. A foot sped towards his chest and Iwaizumi rolled out of the way, slashing upwards, driving them back. 

The next trok, his head was rocketed back into the stony ground by an invisible force. Black blots dropped into his eyes, and he barely managed to clamber to a crouch, aware that being still was a request for death. 

He regretted not bringing his shield.

Dodging past the next push of air - he could see it now, the shimmering from their brawny hands, the ripples of their clothing - he jabbed, watching how they jumped backwards. They leaned their weight on the side of their foot too much. He ducked, his left hand darting upwards to deflect their next brick, ramming their arm up so the brick passed over his head. He felt wind ruffle through his hair as they tried to slash at him, but Iwaizumi brought up his sword, parrying the less powerful dagger away easily. 

He saw their teeth grit, their shirt wavering, and he twisted to the side as a brick whooshed past him, one that would've caught him straight in the chest otherwise. Grasping their wrist again, he clenched down hard, and they cried out, the dagger falling from their palm as he jerked them forwards. His foot shot out, ramming against the side of their knee with a crack, and then they were screaming, collapsing to their knees, hands instinctively flying to clutch at their leg. 

Iwaizumi lifted his sword. It took a skilled, skilled magicker to gather the concentration to use their powers through agony like that. They were done.

Oikawa wouldn't kill them. 

Abruptly, he hesitated, the realisation spinning through his head, his hand frozen in midair. 

They frantically grabbed at his waist, reaching for the sheathed dagger, and Iwaizumi's body reacted instinctively. His blade was through their chest before he knew it, slumping back with a rivelt of blood leaking from the corner of their mouth. 

Iwaizumi shoved at their shoulder, and they slid off of his sword, letting out a weak cough. He felt droplets splatter across his face, a sensation that he was beginning to suspect was too familiar to him. Staring down at their expression curdled in agony, the last wisps of their breath flattening out their chest, he swallowed hard. This was necessary.

Claws cut towards him, and he swiped his blade outwards, missing shearing off the talon tips by a feather's width. The Shifter spun back up high into the air, then began to dive down again, tucking in their wings. It thumped him back to the present - he didn't have time for his mind to drift.

He glanced across to his partner. "Ushijima, you haven't dealt with him yet?" 

A rare emotion fluttered across Ushijima's face - his bottom lip slanted upwards, his eyebrows quivered - annoyance. 

Digging his whole blade into the ground, Ushijima put both hands on the hilt, his arms flexing as he bore down pressure. The cluster of earth gave way, the end snapped upwards, and stones were sent hurtling upwards with tremendous force, scattering within a blinding dustcloud, engulfing the Shifter. Iwaizumi heard the dull, wet thunk of rocks sinking into flesh, and in the next moment the Shifter plummeted out of the air, crashing to the dirt. Iwaizumi saw that a stone had ripped through his neck, his wing, the side of his beak, crimson beginning to seep out of the wounds. 

Iwaizumi saw the boy stir, spurring his horse around, and he sprinted forwards, managing to grasp a stirrup, yanking it back towards him. It was only a momentary delay - Iwaizumi was almost pitched forwards with the horse's momentum, but it was enough.

Diving forwards, Ushijima outstretched a hand and grabbed the dangling reins. The muscles in his arm flexed as he leaned backwards, counteracting the mount, and the horse's hooves skidded, its body going one way, the head forcibly being brought around the other.

With his other hand, Ushijima swung his sword towards the boy's legs, and the boy leapt upwards, feet nimbly settling in the saddle, dropping his reins. His hand reached down and his fingers plucked off several bits of paper, allowing them to glide down to Ushijima in the low wind. Ushijima reacted instantly, angling his wide-bladed sword in front of his face, bracing his other hand flat against the blade a trok before the first piece made contact with the steel. There was a rush of wind against Iwaizumi's face, and he flung up an arm in front of him, blocking the view of the fight for a trok. But in the next moment, he was blown backwards by a blast of what felt like a muted explosion, and he recognised the feeling - it was like Kuroo's white, when he threw down a dagger in the cave and sent Iwaizumi flying. They were up against a Storer, standing tall in the saddle.

Bearing the main brunt of the force, Ushijima tumbled backwards over himself, harsh undergrowth and rocks scraping along the metal of his armour, and Iwaizumi's heart shrunk. Until Ushijima unfolded his giant form, little scratches running smears of blood across his cheeks and forehead, and held out his sword again.

His sword wasn't broken, or even scarred - Yaku's handiwork held up, and even the boy himself seemed surprised, one eyebrow twitching upwards. Taking advantage, Iwaizumi lunged, shearing the girth strap, and the boy launched himself backwards as the saddle hit the dirt, the horse skittering away to the side, hooves clacking against the rocky ground, panicking. It had a shallow gash in its side, and Iwaizumi felt a prickle of guilt. 

The boy darted away, putting as much space between him and Iwaizumi as possible, and Iwaizumi wondered if he was going to try and make a break for it, horse or no horse. His pale fingers tore off more tiny fragments of paper, scattering them behind him, and Iwaizumi realised abruptly that he was directing them into the wind, blustering right towards them. Rolling to the side, the papers passing by overhead, Iwaizumi felt the angle of the wind alter as he came to his feet - instead of head-on, it was against the side of his face. Continuing to press on, he watched as the boy adjusted his course, attempting to make it so that Iwaizumi's only choice was to go straight into the wind. 

Iwaizumi broke into a run, interrupting the careful pace they had set up, forcing the boy to go faster, the edges of the paper sticking out of his clenched fists as he turned and sprinted. There was a clattering behind Iwaizumi, and he turned to see Ushijima riding one of the horses, cantering past Iwaizumi with ease. He would be on top of the boy in a matter of troks - then Iwaizumi saw flashes of white on the ground, trailing after the boy. 

"Waka-!"

Underneath him, the ground exploded, tossing the horse to the side with an almost unnerving ease, sending Ushijima flying off of its back in a cloud of scattered soil. Iwaizumi had to duck a disconnected leg, the spray of blood hot against the top of his head. He slowed his pace, head whipping back to see if Ushijima was alright. The momentary loss of vision almost cost him - he stumbled over a rock, barely keeping his balance. 

Iwaizumi gritted his teeth, having to pick his path carefully, glancing down every so often to dodge the paper. If he could Brick himself off the ground, he would be able to reach him so much faster… but Ushijima would see, and the boy. Ushijima wouldn't have the same reservations Akaashi had about turning Iwaizumi in. 

It didn’t matter. Iwaizumi had been fighting magickers for years without his powers. 

Something caught his eye - the saddle of the fallen horse, being thrown forwards by the explosion, and he diverted towards it, grabbing the tattered strap. Maybe he couldn't use his white, but he could imitate it. He continued on, picking a particularly large scrap of paper, and readied himself. Timing would be everything. He hefted the saddle up to his hip, gripping the leather firmly, and then tossed it in front of him, only a trok before his foot hit the paper. The saddle triggered the paper an instant after, and then Iwaizumi's right foot was on it, using the force to kick off of it, sending it straight back into the dirt, but propelling Iwaizumi up through the air, faster than he'd expected. 

Iwaizumi hit the ground in a roll, barely a foot behind the boy, who leapt to the side, startled. Coming to his feet, Iwaizumi lunged towards him, his hand outstretching to grab his cloak. The boy twisted away, Iwaizumi's fingers just grazing the soft fabric, leaning down to pluck more paper from his body. The boy was slippery, and Iwaizumi felt like being close to him was dangerous - he blocked a shred of paper with the flat of his blade, regretting his decision to not take up Yaku's offer of a shield. It was only a small impact, but it was enough to throw Iwaizumi off balance, reeling backwards as the boy dropped to a crouch, sweeping his leg towards Iwaizumi's ankle. Iwaizumi swiveled his upper body around, driving his sword into the dirt next to his ankle, saving it from attack and using the leverage to pull himself back to his solid footing. 

The boy sprung up straight, placing the flat of his foot on Iwaizumi's buried sword, causing it to lean backwards, the whole weight of the boy, multiplied by the length of the blade, pressing into Iwaizumi's palm. Forced to let go of his sword to avoid his shoulder popping free, Iwaizumi backed up hastily as the boy scattered papers in front of him. They fluttered from his long fingers like butterflies devoid of colour, and Iwaizumi dived to the side, praying they all missed him. Their paths were wavering and unpredictable, even if they were caught by the wind's stream. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Iwaizumi saw Ushijima come up behind the boy, who turned, trying to face both attackers at once, and Iwaizumi didn't hesitate. Within the moment the boy's attention was distracted, Iwaizumi tackled him around his waist, sending him flat onto his back. He gripped the boy's wrists, leaning his knee hard on his chest. Checking that he didn't have any paper clenched in his palms, Iwaizumi allowed himself to breathe a little easier. 

The boy didn't resist anymore. In fact, he looked more irritated than anything else, turning his face to the side, sweaty cheek resting against the dirt. "Is this the part where you threaten to kill me?"

"Not exactly," Iwaizumi told him, registering that his voice was light, unburdened, as if they were greeting each other in passing. Not like Iwaizumi had his knee right below his neck. "You only get a death threat if you resist coming with us."

"Aren't you polite."

“How old are you?” Iwaizumi asked, out of curiosity than anything else. Now that he had a better look at his face, he really was only a boy, with a soft round face and thin eyebrows. 

The youngster only gazed back coolly. “Why?”

“Because you fought well. For your age," Ushijima told him.

“So did you, old man.” 

Ushijima furrowed his brow, glancing over at Iwaizumi. “Am I an old man?” 

Iwaizumi held in a smile. “No, we're not there yet.” 

The boy gave him a look. “Right....”

“How old are you? It’s cruel of Kunimi-sama to send such a young delegate.” Ushijima’s voice was earnest. 

Shrugging as much as he was able, the boy looked away. “My father didn’t have much choice in the matter, seeing as he’s dead.”

Upon seeing Iwaizumi’s face, he frowned. “Katachi isn’t the only kingdom experiencing upset. You didn’t know?” 

“I thought that your grand policy or whatever kept the lands stable,” Iwaizumi said, and he shifted, expression neutral. “I did too.” 

There was a whole story that the new lord wasn’t saying, but Iwaizumi didn’t have time to pry it from him now. 

"How old are you?" Iwaizumi asked again, and the youngster's expression soured, perhaps realising he wasn’t escaping the query. "Sixteen."

Iwaizumi's eyebrows shot up. Someone half his age was sent to negotiate with someone as dangerous as her? He tried to fish up a name for Kunimi's son, but couldn't find anything.

"What's your name?" 

"Kunimi."

"We know that, smartass. Full name."

Kunimi's young heir held Iwaizumi's eyes, silent and sullen. 

"Fine. You're Kunimi, then." Iwaizumi paused. "Kunimi-sama."

"You're kidnapping me and adding on honorifics to my name?" Kunimi lifted a lazy eyebrow. "Don't bother." 

"It's not a kidnapping, more so a… " Iwaizumi struggled to find the right phrasing. If Oikawa was here, he'd know it. "A strongly advised trip." 

"Right…. Can you release me now? This is uncomfortable."

Iwaizumi scowled down at him, pressing his knee a little firmer down on his sternum. "This part isn't a negotiation."

"Don’t you want me to cooperate?"

Iwaizumi already had the sense that this kid was going to be troublesome. 

"Ushijima, strip off that paper." 

"Alright."

Iwaizumi checked Kunimi's mouth for any paper - a wholly unpleasant experience for both of them - as Ushijima carefully covered his hands in cloth and piled the paper pieces to the side, revealing brown leather boots underneath, sticky with gobs of glue. Finding a cloth bag tucked under his belt, Iwaizumi discovered it was full of paper too, and tossed it aside, Kunimi's dismayed eyes tracking where it fell. It didn't matter. Iwaizumi wasn't going to give him an opportunity to use it.

Iwaizumi hoped that paper was the only medium he could store power in - usually they only had one, but an assumption wasn't enough. There had been too many genetic deviations of white mixing together, too many weird combinations for him to bank on the "usual." 

Ushijima slung him over his expansive back, a development Kunimi was thoroughly disgusted with, judging by his scrunched nose and pinched brows. 

"You might want to get used to it, we left the horses behind quite a while ago," Iwaizumi mentioned to him, treading a step behind Ushijima, and Kunimi's face grew even more full of detestation. Really, for someone who could have a stone wall for a face, it was distinct in its utter revulsion. 

They trudged forwards in silence. The walls of night closed in on the last shreds of light, and their own feet grew dull. Iwaizumi found himself relying heavier and heavier on his gift to guide them. Luckily, they found their way back to their unscathed horses before night completely shut out their vision, and they set up camp quickly. Kunimi quietly seethed near them, attached firmly to the same bushes as the horses. Iwaizumi felt his gaze burning into the back of his skull as he tended the sparking fire. 

Camp made, Iwaiuzmi was gratefully stripping off his leg armour, feet stretched out towards the fire, when Ushijima spoke. 

“I like how you attack.” 

Iwaizumi arched an eyebrow over at him, slinging his leather guard into the pile. “Huh?”

“Your weight shifts over to your right leg, and your shoulders tilt. It’s satisfying to watch.” 

“I… alright. Thanks?” Iwaizumi began to unbuckle his armguard. He slipped it off, trying to push the comment to the back of his mind, out of his head. It meant nothing more than what was stated.

“I don’t think a thank you is necessary. It was an observation.” 

Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I, uh, didn’t know what else to say.”

“You didn’t have to.” 

“Good to know.” Iwaizumi swallowed. His palm stilled, lying over the buckle. “That was, uh, what you told me a lot when we were dating.”

He kept his gaze fixed forwards.

“My apologies. I didn’t realise.” 

Iwaizumi only hummed back, trying to push back the hurt in his chest. Maybe Oikawa had been right, maybe he too had shit to work through. Because he hadn’t worked through it - he’d run away to Torem’s castle rather than acknowledging his feelings. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what his feelings were. Did he resent Ushijima for locking his memories away? Was he glad of it? Was he envious? 

Either way, he knew it hurt. 

“Waka-“ he began, before realising his mistake. He cleared his throat. “Ushijima, why did you choose to take those memories away? Of me, I mean. I never asked you.” 

“So they wouldn’t affect how we worked together.”

“Ah. Right.” 

Iwaizumi didn’t know why he expected a different answer. He drew his fingertips across the grooves in his armour. They reminded him of Oikawa’s scars, as if they were the inverse, carved down instead of out.

Ushijima was quiet for a moment. “They were painful, too. Even when I wasn’t around you.” 

Iwaizumi looked over at him. "And how do you think I feel now?"

Ushijima's gaze ghosted away from him. It settled in the ashes of the fire. "It's been a long time. I assumed you moved on. And you did." 

Inhaling deeply, Iwaizumi leaned back, staring up at the blanket of stars. "Yeah. I did." 

"But… I -" he sighed, running a hand back through his hair. Articulating his feelings was fucking hard. "It wasn't the break up that hurt me the most, it's just how now, those years literally are nothing to you. Gone. And I wish… I mean, I'm glad you weren't hurt like me, but I still… I felt like I was alone. With my pain, I mean. Does that make any sense? Probably not."

He let out his breath. "Nevermind." 

"I think you were stronger than me."

"Hm?"

"You bore the weight of our time together." Ushijima turned his face upwards. "I thought it was just unnecessary anguish, but, on reflection, I might take those memories back. They're part of me, good or bad. Then, maybe, you won't feel so alone."

"It's too late." Iwaizumi dropped his head onto his forearm. "It won't make any difference now."

"Because you love Oikawa."

Love?

“I’ve - Ushijima, I’ve known him for a month.”

“I thought you were around each other in the castle for years before now.”

“I don’t love him,” Iwaizumi said, harsher this time. 

Ushijima didn’t press any further. 

Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Iwaizumi closed his eyes, focusing on the heat of his arm to ground himself. "I have no reason to love that self-centered bastard. I - I didn’t tell you this, but when we met in the marketplace, we fought. We both said some…. some pretty shitty things.” 

“So he did join Kae as we thought?” 

“Yeah.” 

Iwaizumi struggled to keep his voice even, keep the anger and hurt from leaking into his tone. 

“Then he is an enemy. I trust that your judgement won’t be compromised by your personal feelings.” 

Iwaizumi's teeth bit into his trembling lip. Did he really have to state the obvious like that? Iwaizumi knew. He fucking knew. Why couldn't have Oikawa just stayed with them? Iwaizumi had promised change - was that not enough? Was it not coming fast enough for him to be satisfied? Had Oikawa's impatience gotten the best of him - was that it? 

Iwaizumi banged his forehead against his forearm slowly, wishing he could beat his thoughts out of him, then pressed down, hard, feeling the pin of the buckle dig further in. The cold metal shape imprinted into his skin. After a trok, he spoke. "No. It won't." 

"Good." 

Iwaizumi felt his thoughts begin to wrap around him. They crammed into his skull, pressurised his throat, and he felt like he was being smothered. Now that they had captured Kunimi, there was no distraction, no objective to pay attention to. Only him and the memory of Oikawa's hollow gaze consuming him. 

Exhaling, Iwaizumi lifted his head, stripping off his last armguard with a rough movement, the buckles grating against his skin through his sleeve. He didn't have the patience to pull the straps through the buckle the full way. It landed askew of the pile, just far away enough to irritate him. 

He turned his head, tracing up Ushijima's expression, reading mild concern. His olive eyes seemed black, almost oil-like. It reminded Iwaizumi of how his touch had once melted against his skin, and the memory was a relief from Oikawa's words, rolling over and over. He shifted closer to Ushijima, who regarded him, the scrunching of his brow betraying his curiosity. 

“Hey, Wakatoshi…. Maybe you don't have to take your memories back,” Iwaizumi ventured, rubbing his fingers up the side of Ushijima’s thigh. “Maybe we can make new memories.” 

Ushijima looked down at his fingers. His face was blank. “You are upset. I don’t know what you want to achieve by sleeping with me, but it won’t make you feel better.”

Iwaizumi sighed. “Maybe I don’t want to feel better. Maybe I just want a distraction.” 

He stretched out towards him, deliberately dipping his gaze to Ushijima’s mouth. They were a darker shade than Oikawa’s. Their noses were only inches apart. Ushijima didn’t react for a trok, then his hands rose, gently pushing at Iwaizumi’s shoulders. Iwaizumi slumped back. He felt no disappointment. 

He was still thinking about Oikawa. About how he chewed the side of his cheek when nervous, about how the edge of his lips raised when pleased, about the scars on his back, laced across his hands, his hands, tender and strong, the mark of his fingers left around Iwaizumi's wrists.

“Why didn’t he stay?” Iwaizumi whispered out. “I wanted him to stay.” 

He curled his arms around his head. “Why did he leave me? I thought…. I don’t know.” 

“I do not know either.” 

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi echoed out. 

How had he forgotten how shit Ushijima was at comforting? At least if he lied, Iwaizumi would have something to cling onto.

Something other than “ _And your hands aren’t bloody?”_

“But I do think that he loves you."

Iwaizumi's head whipped up, staring at Ushijima. He couldn’t be joking - "What - how can you possibly know -"

“Please stop talking,” came the voice from behind. “Let me sleep.”

Iwaizumi started. He had totally forgotten about Kunimi, tied up to the little trees behind. They'd given him their shelter, cloth draped between branches, as a gesture of goodwill. But also, Iwaizumi had a sense that Kunimi would complain until he had gotten it. 

“You talk a lot of shit for a prisoner,” Iwaizumi called over his shoulder. 

"You gave me the shelter. I doubt you’re going to kill me, unless you want to push me to the brink of suicide by threatening to fuck in front of me. You're doing well so far."

Iwaizumi choked on air. How was he supposed to respond to that?

"We can talk more quietly, if you wish," Ushijima offered. "It was not our intention to upset your sleep."

He heard Kunimi exhale, and twisted around to see him lying on his back, bound hands resting on his stomach, staring up at the cloth ceiling. "I wish for you to shut up."

"But we are talking."

"Unfortunately."

"If you say one more word I'm taking back away the shelter," Iwaizumi threatened, and despite the resulting displeased huff, Kunimi fell quiet. 

Iwaizumi snorted, turning to back Ushijima again. "That's how it's done. When did you speak to Oikawa?"

“The day before he left. He came to me, said you were having a disagreement, to ask my advice. He dislikes me strongly. He wouldn’t have done that for anyone he feels anything less than love for. Because he did that before, when he was kilra with Eita.”

Ushijima spoke frankly, and Iwaizumi's face felt like it was burning. He had logic behind his reasoning, and Iwaizumi couldn't fault it. Something flared up in his chest, powerful and lightening at the same time. Maybe… maybe he had meant something to Oikawa. 

"Sorry you had to deal with that," Iwaizumi answered, releasing a thick breath. "He's not exactly easy to deal with at times. Or, well, ever."

"I am aware."

Iwaizumi bit down on his lip. Did anyone or anything actually get to Ushijima? If he had confronted Oikawa in the market, would he have been able to get answers from him? He would've been blunt and honest, but not unnecessarily harsh. Some of what Iwaizumi had said was too much. He knew that, but regret didn't put the words back into his mouth.

He looked away, ribcage compressing down on his heart. 

"I was always jealous of you," Iwaizumi said quietly. "You never used to let your personal feelings affect how you carried out missions. I want to be like that." 

He paused, shoulders slouching. "I wanted to be like that. But I think... I know now that I'll never be as good at this as you are. I just have to live with that."

The fire crackled in front of them, the heat doing nothing to warm Iwaizumi's fingers. He outstretched them further, into Ushijima's silence, and realised that they were shaking. He hadn't talked about this insecurity… ever, he realised. He mightn't have even realised he felt like that until now, only mirroring Ushijima's behaviour out of instinct, not conscious of his desire to be more than he ever could be. His throat knotted up, and he shut his eyes, closing his hand into a fist. He was restrained by his body, by his mind, by his morals, but he refused to let any of them go. 

Was that weakness, or strength?

"Imitating others is never the best way to procure strength," Ushijima said finally. "You have your own kind of strength. It would be foolish not to use it."

The wind changed, blowing wood smoke right into Iwaizumi’s eyes, and he squeezed them shut, glad of the excuse. They stung. 

"I'm not too sure about that," Iwaizumi said. "I've spent my life training others to be more than I can be, and I know there's something noble in that, but there's a frustration as well." 

The horses snorted and scraped the ground beneath their hooves. Iwaizumi's gaze cut over to them. 

“I don’t understand why you feel frustrated,” Ushijima said. “You cannot change your condition, or the talent you’ve been given. There’s no point in feeling frustrated.” 

"That doesn't change anything," Iwaizumi muttered out. He got to his feet, speaking before Ushijima could. “I think I’m going to go to sleep. Wake me when you need me to take watch, alright?"

“Goodnight.” 

  
  


Oikawa woke to a clanking. 

It took a trok for his sleep-altered mind to catch on, to recognise the sound. 

Kindaichi's armour. 

Jolting upright, he realised that he'd fallen asleep at his desk, and his arm was numb. He stood in the darkness of his study, the moon blinking over the courtyard as a cloud passed over it. Again, a clash and clatter sounded outside his door, and he slipped open his drawer quickly, grasping the familiar dagger handles. The bang of metal against metal made him wince as he crept over to the door, enhancing his senses. He smelled fresh blood, and his stomach twisted in knots. He hadn't fucking healed Kindaichi to the point of passing out just for him to get killed so soon after. 

Shouldering open the door, Oikawa's gaze skittered across the scene, absorbing every detail as fast as possible - three assailants, Kindaichi trapped beneath the short blade of one, the others beginning to turn towards him. In the dim, lantern lighting of the corridor, Oikawa could barely make out their clothing, or their half-covered faces, but that didn't matter. 

He Breathed, aiming for the joint at the end of the lamps, and they crashed to the floor. The corridor plummeted into blackness, and a metallic taste bled into his mouth. He heard their footsteps shuffle, unsure in the darkness, and he felt a smile creep onto his face as he lunged forwards, slashing across the chest of the first one. He made sure not to cut too deeply - he wanted them out of the picture, not dead -

A swish on his right. Oikawa stumbled backwards, cursing his legs for not acting how he wanted them too, shut his eyes, and parried. He'd located the clicking of the wrist bones right - their blades connected, and Oikawa wasted no time in judging where the rest of their body was. He brought around his other dagger, cutting horizontally, and a jerk reverberated up his arm, along with the hot spray of blood on his fingers. Ah. He'd cut too much, hit bone. 

The cry was quickly stifled, although Oikawa could still hear the slow drip of their blood onto the floor, a steady thudding. 

Kindaichi’s voice emerged far too close to him, and Oikawa retreated a step. 

“Oikawa-sam-“ 

Kindaichi's voice cut off, and a thud sounded out through the dark.

Hesitating, Oikawa stilled. A fist slammed into his stomach out of nowhere, and all of the air was punched from his lungs. He stumbled back down the corridor, the pain seeming like it was ripping through his torso. A bad effect of heightening his senses - pain was difficult to handle. Blots of darkness clung onto the edges of his vision, and he barely kept himself back from retching.

In order to stop himself from passing out, Oikawa dulled his senses, reaching out a hand to brush against the wall, attempting to orient himself. The pain was only a slight ache now, but he was utterly blind, deafened. He could hear the scrambles, low groans of pain, but it was impossible to tell which were the assassins and which were Kindaichi’s. 

Oikawa sucked in the side of his cheek. He measured up his options. Kindaichi was wearing armour, and from his brief glimpse of the intruders, they weren't. If he heard a clinking, it was probably him. His armour protected his chest and torso, positioned a little higher up than Oikawa's, but not the soft flesh of his throat. 

Oikawa crept forwards, daggers raised, aware of the silence that now hung over the black corridor. His eyes were slowly adjusting - there was a strip of light coming out from under the door of Kae's room, but that was all. Closing his eyes, he let his Breath spill out of him, sensing more - and he instantly felt a whirl of air on his lips and ducked, the blade slashing overhead. Lunging forwards, he struck the assailant in the ribs with his elbow, ensuring that they were hindered. In the next trok, his dagger sliced upwards, and he felt the wet slide as flesh opened up beneath his hand. The scent of blood rushed to his head, and he had to reel backwards, a thump echoing throughout the corridor. 

"Tsubame? Tsubame?!"

Whipping towards the frantic voice, Oikawa hurried forwards, and his boot clanged off of metal. He dropped to a crouch, his hand frantically skimming up the cold armour, his hearing attuned for the slightest indication of an attack. He could still smell the stifling odour of blood, frantic breaths from the one he'd felled - but his fingers found the side of Kindaichi's neck, and pressed in. The sensation of a force pushing on his skin, along with the quiet huffs of Kindaichi's breaths, sent relief shimmering down Oikawa's body. He was fine - likely only knocked out. 

"You fucking _skut_ ," came a growl, and Oikawa gripped his dagger again, staying in a crouch, listening. 

If he knew where Kindaichi was, he was free to attack. Anger made hearts beat faster, breaths come heavier, and Oikawa listened, listened, listened. And so when the first footstep fell, to the other side of Kindaichi, he was ready. Stabbing upwards, his blade hit something firm - and a knife came clattering down. A hissed curse shot through the air. 

Oikawa swore - if he had hit someone's wrist or arm, that wasn't enough to take them out of the fight. He stood, darting to the side - and slammed into the third attacker. Had they been drawn by the noise? He shoved them away, but his cloak had been caught - and he found himself being tugged back, unable to get away. Hearing a hiss of wind, he brought up his dagger - and misjudged. Cold steel bit into his forearm, and the agony, only heightened by his Breath, crippled his arm, making his whole head spin. Desperately, he lashed out with the hilt of his dagger - and by sheer luck, struck bone, the hardness sending vibrations up his hand. The person next to him crumpled, his cloak freed again. 

Oikawa could hear his own breathing, harsh and rough, pounding in his ears. He had to concentrate. With difficulty, he restrained his Breath, and his hearing diminished, the scent of blood almost vanishing, the pain easing into a sharp flare - but no longer overwhelming. Oikawa exhaled, eyes futilely flitting back and forth, as if by some miracle he would be able to see through the thickness. He ached to grip his dripping wound, cover up the sound of blood hitting the floor, but that would require him to drop his dagger. 

Clomp, clomp. Oikawa turned just in time, angling his daggers defensively across his neck and chest, the most likely spots for an attack - and was sent lurching back a step, metal reverberating on metal. The force of the swing was far too much for it to be a knife. Shit. 

Oikawa warily backed up, but before he could get far, a soft voice emerged. 

"I have my blade to your guard's throat."

Oikawa inhaled. Shit. 

"I want you to light a lantern. Let's finish this fight fairly. There should be ones on the floor." 

"Alright." Oikawa spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm doing it."

They could be bluffing. It was entirely possible that they weren't. Oikawa bent down, sweeping his palms left and right along the floor, the wound in his arm burning. He could hear moaning - which was good. He hadn't killed anyone. His hand knocked against hot metal, and he hissed, feeling the leftover heat sear into his skin, oil seeping into the crevasses of his fingertips. 

"What's going on?"

The deep voice was sharp, and Oikawa stifled another heavy exhale of pain. 

"I'm getting the fucking lamp," he said, preparing himself to Breathe. 

The hinge of a door squealed, light blazing down the corridor, and Oikawa got a glimpse of a figure bending over Kindaichi. The glare coming too fast, too harsh, Oikawa had to squeeze his eyes shut. 

“ _Decio bare.”_

He heard a gasp - one single, laboured gasp, then the thud of two bodies dropping. He opened his eyes. 

Kae stood there, a lantern in hand, light gently wafting over the collapsed bodies. Tendou popped up behind her, fully dressed. 

"Ah."

Oikawa looked over the bodies, and shut his aching eyes. They smelled like rotting leaves in winter. 

"Guess we aren't interrogating anyone now," he said lightly, pushing down the rising urge to vomit. Quickly scrambling to his feet, ignoring his throbbing hand, he strode over to Kindaichi, dropping to his knees beside him. Aside from a cut on the hinge of his arm, a vulnerable chink in his armour, he looked more or less intact, all six foot - ridiculously - tall of him. He was slumped against the wall, half-upright, head lolling down across his shoulder. 

Tendou laughed, hopping over to gaze down at the blood leaking from their heads. "You're right there, Ru-kun! Kae, couldn't you have taken even one alive? Someone new would've been fun, switch up the dynamic a bit, no?"

Kae shot a sharp look across at Tendou. "Did you not see this coming? A warning would've been useful."

Tendou shrugged. "Nothing at all. Glad it all worked out okay!"

"We don't know that yet," Kae said, as Oikawa bent over Kindaichi, pulling off his helmet. It fell on the carpeted floor with a thud. To his relief, he could hear him breathing deeply. 

"I do, though." 

"You just said that you hadn't seen it."

"Well… I might've seen a teensy little bit. But where’s the fun in life if you can predict everything and stop it?” 

“We are not here for ‘fun’ Tendou.”

“Are you sure? Sounds like a sad existence.”

Oikawa heard Kae's click of annoyance. He wasn't sure if it was a relief or even more foreboding that neither of them knew how much Tendou could see, or predict what he would tell them. Was he really on Kae's side?

"Kindaichi," Oikawa called out, shaking his shoulder. "Kindaichi, wake up."

"Oikawa, you're hurt yourself," Kae observed, kneeling beside him. "Let me heal you first."

Oikawa shook his head, roughly tugging down his cloak to cover his throbbing forearm. "I'm fine. We need to see if Kindaichi's okay first."

"He's gonna be just fine," Tendou assured them, and Kae shot a sharp glower his way. "It sounds, Tendou, like you saw more than simply a little."

He seemed not to notice or acknowledge Kae's glare, and waltzed off, patting an unconscious Kindaichi on the head as he passed by. "Happy you survived!"

Oikawa clicked his tongue, and arched his hand back. "Kindaichi, if you don't follow my order and wake up, there's going to be consequences." Kindaichi's eyelashes flickered, and Oikawa sighed. "I warned you."

He smacked Kindaichi's cheek, and Kindaichi's eyes bolted open, his head jolting upwards. "Oikawa-sama - what - are they -"

His cheek was turning pink, and Oikawa's hand stung. A little grimace twisted around Oikawa's lips. Maybe he should've held back more. But it was worth it for the cool sensation of relief unwinding in his chest. 

"They're dead, yes," Kae filled in. "You have nothing to fear now."

Wincing, Kindaichi rubbed a hand over the back of his head. "I'm sorry I didn't protect you better-"

"You did just fine," Oikawa reassured him, his fingertips dancing over Kindaichi's spiky hair. It reminded him a little of Hajime's, and he inhaled, trying to keep himself on track as he pressed down on his scalp, searching for a knot. Breathing could relieve immediate stress, but if something kept swelling up, he'd need to keep an eye on it. "If you hadn't intercepted them, they would've killed me in my sleep."

Kindaichi reddened. "Just doing my job."

"Oikawa."

Oikawa turned to Kae, and opened his mouth a fraction. She murmured some words under her breath, and Oikawa relaxed, feeling his flesh cave over its shallow wound. 

For the first time, having never been in this position before, Oikawa realised just how useful it was to have a fully-fledged Breather around, not one that would barely stitch up his organs. He felt an ache of longing, remembering one certain cheeky, cloudy-haired young man. He wondered if he had gotten further in his training - and felt sure he had. 

Either way, Oikawa had grossly undercharged for his services in the past.

His fingers brushed over Kindaichi's arm wound - that must've been the blood he smelled earlier - and Kindaichi swallowed, tensing. 

"It's okay," Oikawa told him, eyes ghosting across to Kae, who was blinking a little too fast. Killing, and then healing… Oikawa's mind flashed back to the day she showed weakness. Was her power really reliable? 

He smiled widely at Kindaichi, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll take care of your injury for you. Just trust me and part your lips a little for me, oka~ay? You know what to expect right? A tiny bit of pain is nothing you can't handle, right?" 

"Um, I think I’d prefer a bandage -" Kindaichi started, and Oikawa Breathed. 

The back of Kindaichi's head hit the wall, an instinct knee-jerk reaction to the pain. 

The tension had barely drained from his face before Kae leaned in, eyes narrowing in focus.

"Kindaichi, did you see where they got in?"

"I think they came out of the king's room," Kindaichi ventured, and Oikawa cut his gaze across to Kae. "Do you not have guards on the passageways? You knew they were there, and you knew the Form knew about them."

Kae sighed. "I did have guards posted. I have a feeling that I lost men tonight."

As Kindaichi's words sunk in, Oikawa felt his blood still. The king's bedroom… Kae had offered him lodgings there, and Oikawa's ego had been attracted to the idea of sleeping in the most powerful man's bed, but if he was in there, with Kindaichi posted outside the door, would he have woken up at all? Or would he have woken up with his blood spilling over the pillow, choking on his own life? Oikawa's fists curled up. 

"I'm staying in the same room as you when you sleep," Kindaichi announced, and Oikawa narrowed his eyes. "You're going to invade my privacy even more?"

Kae nodded. "After this, I think it's for the best." She clapped a hand on Kindaichi's shoulder. "I knew you were the right choice to protect him."

Oikawa was about to object, but something in Kindaichi's expression stopped him, a certain look in his eyes. Self-direction. Oikawa swallowed his complaints back down, wondering if maybe Kae picked Kindaichi for a different reason. If it was to protect him, Kindaichi had a personal debt to repay. No matter how experienced the other guards were, none of them had any reason half as compelling to defend him. 

He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. Fine, but I get bathroom privacy, at the very least."

Kindaichi got to his feet with a jingle, his fingers playing over the smooth curve of his skin in his armour's chink, as if checking that the wound really was gone. "Yes, Oikawa-sama. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Both of you, try to get some sleep," Kae instructed, gaze somewhere beyond them. "I'm going to go clean up this mess the best I can."

She spun around and left them, cloak flaring out behind her. Oikawa glanced around, Tendou's missing presence somehow preying on him more than if he was there. He didn't like being in the castle with people equally as cunning as him. 

To turn his mind from unsettling thoughts, he focused back on Kindaichi. He was staring at the bodies. Oikawa wondered if he had ever seen a dead body before. 

"You aren't very good as a guard, are you?" Oikawa asked flatly, and Kindaichi winced. "Yes - I mean no, I was doing okay until you smashed all the lanterns. I think. I might've - I might've been about to be overpowered."

Oikawa sighed. "Maybe it was a bad decision to take out the lamps. But we were outnumbered."

"You could've called for other guards."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was concentrating on not being stabbed by three assassins."

"Mm. Fine. I'll accept that explanation." Averting his gaze from the dead assassins, Oikawa glanced down at himself. His white shirt was splattered with crimson from the fight. He lifted a hand, rubbing at it hard, but only succeeded in sinking it further into the fabric. 

“I thought for a moment that Sugawara might be behind it,” Oikawa said quietly. 

Kindaichi’s brow creased. “Does he hate you that much?”

“That’s the thing,” Oikawa said softly. “I don’t know.”

The past three days, Sugawara had been quiet, friendly, cooperative - and Oikawa had never felt so uneasy. He felt sure that he hated Kae more, but it was difficult to tell - and the best way to slow Kae’s negotiations would be to take Oikawa out of the picture. It was little wonder he was the one targeted by the Osole - if Kae's abilities were known, Oikawa would undoubtedly appear as the easier target. He felt his expression scrunch up, souring. 

"Um, what… what do we do with the bodies?" Kindaichi asked, looking about as nauseous as Oikawa felt. "Won't they… start to smell?"

"They already do," Oikawa said dimly. "You just can't smell them."

He inhaled, gathering himself. "Come on. Let's lay some sheets over them from the bed. The king always had far too many anyways."

Kindaichi nodded silently, and they got to work, stripping the bed, arranging the bodies in the neatest, more respectful way they could. Bracing himself against the prickling sensation at the back of his throat, Oikawa dragged the last body into an adjoining room, covered with a silk cloth. He straightened - not too fast, the lingering, sickening stench was still causing dangerous waves in his gut - and sighed. He placed his fingers on Kindaichi's back, gently pushing him out of the room. 

"Let's go to bed. Leave someone else take watch for the rest of the night, okay?"

Kindaichi acknowledged him with a nod. Oikawa shut the door behind them, the upset in his stomach not easing in the slightest. He had a feeling that this was only the beginning.

  
  


Kunimi was what Iwaizumi thought impossible - harder to converse with than Ushijima. 

Unfortunately for him, Iwaizumi wasn't the type to give up easily. 

"Why did you agree to come here to meet with her?" Iwaizumi asked casually, as if Kunimi wasn't unwillingly roped to Ushijima's back, his black fringe bobbing with every step the horse took. He looked thoroughly uncomfortable, and Iwaizumi was banking on it to wear away his patience. 

"You know why."

"I don't." 

Kunimi sighed. "Then you're a moron."

"There's no need for insults." Iwaizumi tried to shake away the thought that if Oikawa was here, he would've gotten the information from him in half the time. 

"But it's so clear to see," Iwaizumi glanced across to him, hiding the little smirk on his lips. Finally, it seemed that Kunimi's exasperation had gotten the best of him.

"The only reason anyone wants control of Katachi is because of the produce," Kunimi continued flatly. "The taxes your underlings pay to the king or whoever is in charge now - I need it. And I can give you money for it."

Iwaizumi quirked up an eyebrow. This was getting out of his area of expertise. "Your lands aren't enough for you to feed your own people?"

Kunimi looked vaguely annoyed. "The soil isn't as fertile in the West as it is in Katachi. Our crops are being flattened by the winds and crippled by the clay soil. Why do you think any of us bother with your chaotic country? The people are discriminatory and ignorant, your power structure is a mess, and the fact that you all haven't been slaughtered by the bandits is a miracle."

"If you're a diplomat, you're damn bad at your job," Iwaizumi commented back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shimmer of a smile on Ushijima's mouth.

“I’m being honest."

"Look, I know Katachi isn't the most stable for exporting-"

That was an understatement. Katachi was a mess of a country, only kept alive by its farmland and, in the last hundred years, a monarchy's tenuous hold on it, keeping the bandits at bay with an organised force.

"-but it's my home," Iwaizumi finished. "It's done a lot for me."

"My condolences," Kunimi murmured out, and Iwaizumi suddenly felt a large urge to stop speaking to him. 

They made good time back. 

The harsh, mountainous soil of the Westlands gradually faded away beneath their horses' worn hooves, the clops no longer ringing out against stones. They padded softly into grass, and Iwaizumi was glad of the change. He had meant what he said. Katachi was his home, and he could pinpoint the very location where they passed back into the true heart of it - the fertile land. Iwaizumi slowed his horse to a walk, feeling the awkward weight of Kunimi seated behind the saddle shift, and inhaled. 

It smelled like wet grass, like the gentle unfolding of spring. A reminder that winter would soon pass. 

Iwaizumi pulled his cloak a little tighter over his chest, eyes drawing across to Ushijima. He'd been thinking, the last few days. And he'd found that he wasn't young anymore, he didn't crave the stability and calmness of Ushijima. He could handle a sprinkle of chaos, a daring retort, an utter bastard personality to hide a heart of warmth. Iwaizumi looked away, towards the sky. It streaked a deep orange, rust smeared across the approaching grey steel of night. 

Maybe he had grown up in that castle. 

To his surprise, Kunimi made no escape attempts, apart from one half-hearted conversation which only left Iwaizumi wanting to gag him, not let him go. Maybe he figured it wasn't worth the effort - if he broke free, he'd have no horse, no method of transportation, no money, and have to travel to the castle on foot. Maybe he figured it was easier to take advantage of them. 

Akaashi, Yaku, and Ennoshita were waiting by the entrance as Iwaizumi closed the big doors behind them. He nodded a greeting as Ushijima stepped forwards, a solid hand on Kunimi's shoulder. 

" _That's_ Kunimi?" Yaku exclaimed, and Kunimi glared sullenly at the wall. He opted for silence, however. 

"He claims he is," Ushijima responded. "We have yet to see proof."

"I apologise for the manner you were brought here," Akaashi told him. He turned up his forearms, and Kunimi's brow creased. Oh. Iwaizumi sometimes forgot that the greeting wasn't used commonly in the Westlands.

"We are the Form," Akaashi continued. "We are made up of past advisors close to Torem, and aim to reinstate the order he brought to the land. I hope that we can give you an offer of alliance that you will find acceptable."

"You could've tried asking me before kidnapping me," Kunimi said, but his gaze regarded Akaashi with… something a little less repulsed than if he was smelling a plate of rotting meat. Iwaizumi supposed that was progress. 

Akaashi's eyes flickered over to Iwaizumi. "You didn't?"

"Um." Iwaizumi suddenly felt extremely dumb.

"It was highly unlikely to work," Ushijima stated, and Iwaizumi nodded. "Yeah. What were the chances of him coming with us? He came to talk to Kae."

Kunimi scanned them. "I thought you would look more intimidating." 

Akaashi raised an eyebrow. "You knew of us before now?"

"No. I just figured that the rest of you would look like these guys." Kunimi inclined his head back towards Iwaizumi and Ushijima. "You know. Intimidating."

While Ennoshita stifled a snort, Yaku narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hajime, why do you keep bringing back assholes?"

Iwaizumi bit back a smile, tightening his hold on Kunimi's rope restraints. "Can one of you take him already?"

Ennoshita stepped forwards, grasping the loose rope trailing from the back of Kunimi's bound wrists. They untied it swiftly, wrapping the length of the rope around their forearm. "Come on. Don't speak and maybe I'll give you the comfortable room."

Kunimi's flat gaze didn't change, but a little twitch of his cheek betrayed his annoyance as he was led away. Iwaizumi felt a slight prickle of unease, seeing the stiffness in his shoulders. It was for the good of the Form, and Katachi, he reminded himself. It was necessary. Those guards' deaths were necessary. 

_And your hands aren’t bloody?_

He swallowed Oikawa's voice away. He was justified in kidnapping a sixteen year old boy. He was. They weren't going to harm him. It was only for negotiation purposes. 

"Where's Miya?" Ushijima asked. "He should be here to talk to Kunimi with you, Akaashi."

Akaashi sighed, running a hand back through his velvet hair. "You don't have to tell me that. He said he had something to do. What that is, I didn't ask, but I should've, looking back upon it."

He tilted his head to the side, and the familiar motion triggered a flash of vivid copper eyes and a cocky smile in Iwaizumi's mind. His chest constricted. Focus on Akaashi's words.

"Back to the matter at hand - is he really Kunimi's son? Two guards, and he came himself? It would be foolish even for a sixteen year old, and he appears shrewd enough."

"Does it matter?" Ushijima asked. "If he isn't the king's son, he must be a delegate. We can still use him."

"What if he was a scout, or a decoy sent ahead?"

"We'll contact his land and see. If he really is the heir, they'll want him back. Threaten to execute him if he's not important - they could try to play him off as a scout and hope we release him."

A rumble rippled through the walls, shaking the ground, and their heads snapped up. 

"What the fuck was that?" Iwaizumi asked, already scrambling over to the door. He frantically mapped out the Form, trying to locate the source. "Did that come from Asahi's?"

Akaashi's mouth downturned, spinning around into the mouth of the corridor. "I have an idea."

"Well, don't be shy to share it!" Yaku suggested, following on Iwaizumi's heels. 

"I think you'll see for yourself soon -"

Another crash bellowed throughout the structure, and Iwaizumi cursed. "Do we have to evacuate? Who found us?"

"There's only one organisation who knows where we are.." Akaashi trailed off as they reached the memory room, the door cracked open. Dust curled out from around the sides, already settling in piles in the frame's corners. Iwaizumi could hear voices, bouncing loud off the walls of the corridor.

He pushed the door open, a thin layer of soil being left behind by the motion. Light streamed through the room, even more than usual, but it was subdued by the sheer amount of people, scrabbling down the newly-formed slope at the back of the cavern. 

“What the fuck?” Yaku breathed out. 

Iwaizumi's gaze traced upwards, trying to adjust to the light, to comprehend the fact that there was a giant, massive crater in the ceiling of one of their most valuable rooms. There must've been at least eighty people, all lightly armed, milling and spreading about the room, gaping at the murals on the walls, sticking their hands onto the remaining plant leaves and laughing, brushing off the dirt on their clothes onto the path.

"Shit," Akaashi cursed softly. 

One man saw them staring, and turned towards them, breaking away from the main group. He looked familiar somehow, although Iwaizumi couldn't put his finger on why. He was dressed much like the others, with thin plated armour layered over a grey shirt and brown pants, basic leather boots covering his shins.

The only difference was his belt, made with interlocking chains. Iwaizumi swore he could see metal balls pressed into the holes between them, rotating as he moved. 

Registering why his face looked familiar, Iwaizumi blinked. Then again. "Miya - what…?"

Yaku elbowed him in the ribs, and Iwaizumi realised. "His brother's a twin?!"

"Atsumu is also a twin," Yaku whispered. "That's how twins work."

“I know that!” Iwaizumi hissed back.

Atsumu's twin raised a hand. 

"Ay. Sorry, we didn't know how to work all that skut stuff, and 'Sum-sum didn't answer the knocking on the hatch, so we had to improvise. We figured that you lot needed to get air in somewhere, so… we found the vents, and boom." 

He gestured vaguely behind him, as if there was anything to see but collapsed earth, spilling over the edge, burying the memory plants. Iwaizumi felt horror run through him - that was their _history_. He wasn't sure where Asahi was, but he felt sure he was going to be unable to break the news to him. Asahi had poured everything into those plants in the hope that Nishinoya's memories were still in there somewhere, maybe retrievable - but now?

Iwaizumi stared at one twisted leaf, bent in a sharp V from a rock having plummeted into the middle. 

Another stepped in front of the Miya twin, upturning his forearms. His hair was stark white, leading to a deep grey at the ends. In the light, it almost looked angelic. "We are deeply apologetic, but force was necessary."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Yaku gaped at the chasm in the ceiling, the earth slowly crumbling down along the sides of the massive split. "Are you fucking-"

"You can just get your woman or whatever to fix it, right?" Atsumu's twin - Osamu, Iwaizumi recalled - waved a hand. “Use magic.” 

"Those are our memories!" Yaku puffed himself up to his full height. "It's going to take us _forever_ to repair that, not to mention that now we have a major hole in the place you're also going to be staying in-"

"Not a problem. We'll defend it."

Atsumu came up beside Iwaizumi's shoulder. "Who let this loser in?"

"Nobody," Akaashi commented, eying the cragged hole. "They let themselves in."

"Ah, 'samu, as subtle and careful as ever," Atsumu said, slowing as he drew closer. 

Osamu's expression didn't change, leaning a hand on his hip. “Ay, 'tsumu. Heard that you’re the leader now. You’re finally catching up to me.”

“Fuck you.” 

"Mm. And yet you accepted my offer."

"Because you can't do shit on yer own either. You're the one who asked me, you're the weaker one."

“Says the one who only joined here to get powers," Osamu said flatly. He picked at the end of his grey shirt. "And ended up with a shitty one.” 

Atsumu's brow shadowed over, tossing his fringe to the side. “You’ll be the one asking me to keep those skuts you caught in line, ‘cos you can’t do it yourself.”

“Not for much longer.” Osamu drew his gaze across to Iwaizumi. "Oh, you're still here?" 

Iwaizumi felt his eyebrows arch upwards. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, he is." Akaashi stepped in front of Iwaizumi. “Is there a problem with that, Osamu-san?"

“Nah, not at all. Just surprise, y'know? Didn’t his actions threaten your entire organisation?” 

“We are more than an organisation," Ushijima stated. "We forgive mistakes. A judgement error is not an intentional offence.” 

“And that’s why she’s still in that castle and why we're here.” Osamu nodded at Iwaizumi. “The best thing you ever did was resign.” 

"Watch your fucking mouth, or I'll send you straight back through that hole you came from," Yaku snapped out, his belt jingling as he strode forwards. 

Iwaizumi held an arm out, glancing down and shaking his head. Yaku grit his teeth. 

"Atsumu, we're strong enough without them," Yaku pushed, and Osamu blinked. "We're right here. Bit rude to talk about us as if we're not."

"I don't care," Yaku spat back. "You shouldn't be here in the first place. Get the fuck out." 

The white-haired man stepped forwards, the one who had apologised in the first place. "We have a common goal. It only makes sense for us to unite. Our entrance was brash, but we couldn't waste time waiting for Atsumu to let us in." 

Osamu leaned forwards and smacked Atsumu across his head. "Bitch."

"You slimy bastard-"

"Enough," he cut across them, meeting Iwaizumi's eyes. "With our combined forces, we have a realistic chance of taking her down and reinstating Kageyama on the throne."

Next to Iwaizumi, Ushijima nodded, his expression clear, firm. "She will aim to divide us. This will hinder her efforts."

Iwaizumi heard Yaku suck in a deep breath. "No. You lot are murderers -"

"Equalisers," Atsumu corrected. "Skuts are born better than us, and as we saw before, they'll misuse that advantage. We're just holding our own."

“You think I enjoy this?" Osamu asked. 

"Yes," Yaku muttered.

"I don't. It's not our fault that it isn't fair. They’re made better than us. Who’s gonna keep them in line? The weak king’s guard? Those idiots?" Osamu tilted a hand up on his hip. "They aren’t trained to fight them, they’d get slaughtered against a single Bricker. You think you have a chance in a fight against a Shifter, huh? How about someone who could vaporise you with a touch? Yeah, right. Believe in your goddess all you want, but she won’t protect you. We will. We just ask a little in return.” 

"She's more than just a goddess-"

"But she isn't here," the other said calmly. "We are."

"We can fight magickers. We've trained how to fight against them," Iwaizumi said. "And we're here to keep the balance, not slaughter what we don't understand."

"Mm. You're trained to subdue, not kill. That's doing well for you, yeah? While skuts are roaming around with their powers unchecked, you're giving them a slap on the wrist.” 

The other man picked up the slack. 

“Murderers are walking free because you fail to acknowledge your shortcomings - with the king's guard gone and Torem dead, you no longer have the support from the castle you once had, and you can't even keep a handle on a single village."

Osamu raised a hand. 

"We do the job right. We bring murderers to justice."

The group behind them split open, and two figures, heads down, were pushed through, chained and shackled. One had iron melted around his hands, the wrists shorn raw from where the edges were sawed off, biting into milky skin. The other’s dark curly hair was matted, thick and dirty, laying over his ears, trawling down his forehead. One raised his head, and deep brown eyes met his.

Iwaizumi felt his blood turn to stone as he looked into the faces of Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro. 

"Can you take on one more task?"

Oikawa bowed his head, looking at the finalised proposal to bring to several Westland kingdoms. It wasn't done, and Oikawa's brain already hurt from the amount of wagering and waggling they'd have to do, but it was a solid start. 

"Yes," he decided on, passing over the stack of paper. "I have some time free now."

He glanced over to Kae. Her hair hung limp, as if the energy was being drawn out, her eyelids drooping too often, the weariness carved into greys beneath her golden eyes. Oikawa felt a splattering of empathy - it couldn’t be easy organising an operation as large as this. He was glad he accepted the task. 

"Will you start developing a draft for a new policing force? The king's guard is being stretched too thin with all of the new arrivals, and I don't wish to pull Aecus from defending the walls. Not to mention, those Southern bandits are pushing up. We need to begin training more magickers. You can use the -"

She cut herself off, looking up at Oikawa from her desk. "You are aware of the historical use of magickers, yes? When the Lady first introduced us?"

“Ah, yes,” Oikawa started, thinking of the memory in Asahi’s. “But the previous method of ruling with magickers was a little flawed -“

“It was perfect," Kae dismissed. "Half of the history is made-up propaganda to spread fear amongst the ordinary. The only problem was people’s refusal to cooperate with us. Magickers were given our strength for one reason - to bring order to this land. And people fear that - it’s the reason Torem-“ she cut herself off, waving a hand. “You know yourself. Being naturally stronger breeds jealousy and fear. Osole alone is proof of that. So we have to curb that, get them to accept us. I will by force if necessary, but diplomacy is preferred.” 

Oikawa pressed his lips shut. He had only seen a snippet of the whole story, after all. Maybe there were only a handful of corrupt ones. Maybe Torem's reign had altered history to a greater extent than he'd realised. But even so…

“May I construct a system where magickers are regulated? A justice system as well?”

“Why would we need that?”

Oikawa hesitated. “I feel like it would be useful. In case some get out of line.” 

“If so, why does it matter? The good they do will be a lot more than any small transgressions.” 

Oikawa thought of the Form’s council, where Iwaizumi was held accountable for breaking the rules, for bringing Oikawa in. They had something right, even if their rules sucked serious ass.

Kae sighed. "Think about it. Regardless, progress has been made." She waved a letter in the air. "In addition to Kunimi's son agreeing to meet, Futakuchi has also agreed to send her son to me soon. I have to say, I wasn't expecting a reply from her, but perhaps the illustrious name of Oikawa Tooru helped things along?"

A smile curled around Oikawa's lips. "Perhaps. I am exceedingly charming, and people tend to take a liking to me." His smile faltered. "Her son, on the other hand…"

As far as he was concerned, Futakuchi’s heir could go and die in a hole, and his thoughts must've shown on his face, for Kae chuckled, passing the letter over to him. "I am sure you will be able to keep him in line. Having the iron wall on our side, alongside its resources, would be enough to finally stabilise this kingdom." 

"Do you really think we could let Futakuchi release her hold on their metal mines?" Oikawa queried flatly. "She's been charging extortionate prices for it."

"In this case, the price is worth it, but see if you can barter her son down," Kae told him. "Having weapons smithed from that metal would boost our soldiers' power and defence quite a bit."

Oikawa's sourness must've shown on his face, because Kae snorted lightly, shaking her head. "Futakuchi Mei's son may be a troublesome boy, but you've been doing this a lot longer than he has. I am sure that you can find a way around him."

"So am I," Oikawa replied confidently. "But I'm already getting a headache while even thinking of speaking to him."

Chuckling, Kae extended a leg and pushed out another chair opposite her. "Here. Sit, I'll help you draft a proposal for him. Hopefully it may ease your headache a bit. Oh, and one of my scouts reported Osole activity in the area. It's likely as we suspected - those assassins were sent by them."

"Just perfect," Oikawa answered, sitting. "Another problem."

"Mm, I don't think so."

Oikawa's eyes narrowed. "Care to explain?"

"We can't negotiate with them," Kae said, putting a paper aside. "Killing them is much simpler than working out a compromise. We have superior numbers, it's an easy solution. I have a meeting with the Aecus generals later about the best way to go about it."

Oikawa swallowed, hard. She discussed genocide so casually. 

He made a show of dipping his quill into ink. "So - do you think Futakuchi would be convinced to part with his precious metal?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love you all sm for commenting and please if I don't get to your comment soon afterwards it's because my life is slowly filling back up again after quarantine <3 they're so motivating and it makes me rly happy to know people like this!!  
> the first chapter without iwaoi interaction,,, I am dying of thirst already. but they will have their time. soon.


	16. Weight

Osole set up frighteningly quickly. 

Every free room was packed with three soldiers, if not more. Those that couldn't fit were put up by a nearby village, or camped on its perimeter - after all, if they camped right outside the Form, it would basically be lighting a bonfire as to their whereabouts.

Iwaizumi prayed that Oikawa hadn't told her where they were. His fists squeezed up on his lap as he listened. Had he chosen wrong to trust Oikawa? Should he have done what Atsumu would've and tried to kill him, or capture him? The thought passed through him like a knife, and Iwaizumi shivered. No. If he had, Oikawa could be down there with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. In addition, he wasn't sure if he would have even been able to capture Oikawa. Not on his own. 

He lifted his gaze, witnessing what was happening. He couldn't hide in his head anymore.

"'Tsumu, you really don't have any dungeons?" Osamu shook his head. "I wish I could say I expected better."

"Oi, like you -"

Before they could descend into bickering, Akaashi broke in. "Yaku-san can modify one of the existing rooms to be more secure. Please, let us get down to the actual matters on hand. Beginning with the issue of the hole in the ceiling -"

Iwaizumi tuned out. 

He wound through the thin corridors, his shoulders always crashing against others. Sometimes he received a mumbled apology. More often than not, he didn't. The air felt dense, hot. It soaked down into his skin and burned like ash. The Osole dressed like they were moving towards battle, in plain clothes with light armour. Iwaizumi didn't think he passed one person unarmed, either with a short sword strapped to their waist, daggers stuffed under their belts, or a bow across their backs.

Abruptly, he was elbowed into the soil wall, and when he turned to glower at the offender, he'd lost them. It could've been any one of the people milling about the corridor, chatting loudly or striding past with heavy-handed shouldering. 

He moved on. He had to find Matsukawa and Hanamaki. 

Iwaizumi made his way down to the cells. They didn't have cells before, but Osamu had insisted that they made one to hold "those skuts."

The guard was slumped by the door, his hand pressed hard on his forehead. 

Iwaizumi approached, holding up a hand. "Um - are you okay?"

"I can't handle them," the guard whispered out. He lifted his face to meet Iwaizumi's eyes, tired and drawn. "I can't deal with them anymore. I know I'm supposed to be in there with them - but you don't understand - they won't shut up. And it's not as if it's interesting conversation, either. It's conversation designed to make me insane. Sometimes they just make out and - and that's a _relief._ Because at least if they're sucking face, they can't talk about …" The guard shook his head, and sunk down into a crouch. "I can't. I can't anymore." He upturned his face again. "Do you know when my shift ends? It has to be soon. It has to be, right?"

"I'm sure it is," Iwaizumi lied. "I'm just gonna go in to -"

His crafted lie was cut off by the guard seizing his wrist. "Don't. For the love of all divine, don't." 

"I have to," Iwaizumi told him, detaching his hand gently. "We have to ensure that - uh, conditions are being met. It's in our rules for prisoners. They require a standard of comfort, too."

"Even for skuts?"

"Even for skuts," Iwaizumi said, holding in his burst of anger. 

He passed by the guard, all sympathy lost. 

Currently, "those skuts" were slumped against the back wall, shoulders together as they watched Iwaizumi approach. A knot formed in Iwaizumi's throat. They'd retrofitted Oikawa's empty room, halved it with a net Yaku had reluctantly crafted, tightly-knit wires sewn together, small enough so no Shifter could possibly get through the holes, but large enough so that they could see what they were doing, at all times. Even if Makki could shift and get through, Iwaizumi doubted that he would leave Mattsun.

"Well. Betcha you didn't expect to see us here," Matsukawa gave Iwaizumi a grin, marred by the welts on his cheeks, the scraped-off skin on his jaw, his temples, the dirt across his forehead, the matting of his black hair. “Have to say, I didn’t expect these assholes to bring us to you and your dumb cult either.” 

"Why didn't you call me?" Iwaizumi pushed his palm down on his forearm. The vow burned on his skin. "I would've -"

He paused. With everything going on, would he have travelled days, a week to go to them?

"I would've gone to help you," Iwaizumi said. 

"Mm," Hanamaki hummed. "Might've been a bit too late for that." 

He spoke through a swollen, bruised lip, purple and blue welling up beneath the light pink. 

Taking hold of the wires, Iwaizumi leaned his forehead against the steel. "I would've come anyways. Maybe I could've-"

"Fought your way through ten Osole?" Matsukawa asked flatly. "Yeah, okay, I've seen you fight, and you're good, but not that good. Didn't Yahaba have to step in last time? The Breather who could barely heal Oikawa?” 

"I could've tried, at least!" Iwaizumi hissed back. He breathed out, trying to keep his frustration under control. He could feel his eyes heating up. "This - this is-"

"A bit shit," Hanamaki filled in, and Iwaizumi nodded. 

“How the fuck did these bastards get you?” 

"Well, that's a long story." Hanamaki tilted his head back against the wall. Iwaizumi's gaze flitted down to his hands, the lump of metal coating them, and tried to remember how Shifter's powers worked exactly. Yahaba always had to touch what he was shifting, but he wasn't able to shift himself. Hanamaki was, but did he have to be touching his skin with his hands for it to work? Iwaizumi desperately tried to recall if he'd seen that tiny detail, but he couldn't, and was reminded once again of his ignorance when it came to white abilities. He had to change that. 

"Look," Hanamaki began, rolling his shoulders back. Iwaizumi figured that it must be draining, having an extra weight attached to your arms constantly. "They recognised that the damage done was caused by more than the two of us, so they were prepared to go up against at least four magickers."

"But - you travelled to Eurus…"

"The deities don't give a fuck anymore," Matsukawa said flatly. "I think there's been a changeover of power, Oikawa's dad mightn't be-"

Hanamaki shot an elbow into Matsukawa's side, who glowered at him. "What? They're basically-"

"Oikawa's dad what?" Iwaizumi leaned in, clenching his hand around the wire. They cut into his hands, but he barely noticed. "Explain."

Hanamaki and Matsukawa were looking at each other, seemingly communicating with head tilts, the subtle widening of eyes, and mouth twists. Iwaizumi felt frustration boil up in him. Why wouldn't they tell him? He knew _nothing._

Matsukawa heaved a sigh. "Basically, they're no longer instructed to stop humans from intruding in their lands. So the Osole are growing more balls by the day. We thought they'd be too scared to go after us, and we were stupid to assume that still held true."

“Don’t worry.” Makki gave him a warped smirk. “We didn’t go down easily.” 

"You didn't explain about Oikawa's dad," Iwaizumi pushed. "So it's true, Oikawa is half deity?"

Matsukawa raised a thick eyebrow. "You figured it out? It was the blood, wasn't it?"

"Uhh…no?” 

Hanamaki closed his eyes. "When Oikawa said you were dumb, we thought he was just being mean."

"Hey," Iwaizumi snapped out. "I didn't grow up knowing about magickers and deity shit. How am I supposed to know the signs of one?"

"Iwa-chan -"

"Don't call me that."

"- Oikawa's _powerful._ A lot more powerful than your average Breather. Don't tell me you didn't notice that."

"Alright, he's good at Breathing, but he's shit at sword-fighting." Iwaizumi pressed his lips together, thinking of how forcefully he'd yanked him along during the raid, of how quickly he was able to grow the tree. Yahaba had been able to extend the leaves a little, but manipulate a whole tree? He wondered how much Oikawa had held back from him, even after weeks spent together. 

"That aside, his white blood? How white comes from deities, a sign of their power on our bodies? How he literally has white blood - deity blood - get it now?"

Iwaizumi paused. "Oh."

Hanamaki huffed out a breath, shaking his head. "Too bad you can't build up your muscles in your brain."

"You idiot," Matsukawa drawled out, rotating his head to look at Hanamaki so affectionately Iwaizumi thought he might puke. "You can, it's called thinking." 

"Hm. Don't like the sound of that. Seems hard."

Iwaizumi banged his forehead lightly against the bar. "How are you two like this when you're about to be put on trial for a murder you didn't do?"

"Eh…" Hanamaki shrugged. His swollen eye moved in what Iwaizumi assumed was supposed to be a wink. "Worst they can do is kill us."

"Yeah. Uh, I don't know if you know this, but that's pretty bad," Iwaizumi reminded them. 

Matsukawa fixed him with a stare. "Do us a favour. Even if this shit doesn't work out, even if our master plan fails… don't tell Yahaba about this. Kid won't be able to deal with it. And it wasn't his fault, anyways."

Iwaizumi exhaled heavily. "Master plan? What master plan?"

Hanamaki gave him a crooked grin. "Our master plan to escape, obviously. Don't worry, you're involved. Couldn't have had you feeling left out." 

"Are you going to wait and see how the trial goes first?"

Makki gave him a look. "You know it's gonna go like 'you're guilty, you're lying if you say you're not,' right? It isn't as if we get to have anyone to defend us but us." 

Matsukawa tapped a finger on his knee, eyes sharp as he thought. "I can do what I did back then, knock everyone out with smoke. You just need to fetch me a few things, and distract the guard for a while."

Iwaizumi thought about it for a trok. "It mightn't affect everyone - if they're in their rooms, it'll take longer for the smoke to get to them, right? And Ushijima's gift is resistance and strength - he'll be harder to knock out." 

"That's what we have you for, no?"

Iwaizumi tensed, and Makki laughed. "You don't have to kill him, you look too fuckin' worried. Just… tell us the way out, distract the guard and Ushijima, and it'll work out. Either way, the worst thing they can do is kill us, so we might as well try and escape.If we can't… I intend to at least pay them back." His expression dropped, gazing at his trapped hands. Iwaizumi wondered if the metal was pre-moulded, or if… a bolt of fear went through him, and he swallowed hard. 

"What do I have to get?" 

Matsukawa unfolded himself from the half-broken chair and leaned over to Iwaizumi. "Dest." His voice dipped. "Pick it just underneath the flower, not the stem. Crastuff. Plum-"

"Mattsun, I have no fucking idea what any of those are."

Matsukawa sighed. "I figured that much, but I had hoped that you'd surprise me. Pick any green and pink plants you see. Oh, and if any have fuzzy undersides to their leaves, don't touch them."

"There's a lot of pink plants-"

There was a noise outside the door, and Iwaizumi's head shot to the side, straightening up quickly. He released a low hiss - he wanted to press further about Oikawa’s father, but busting Makki and Mattsun out was more urgent. Matsukawa quickly gave him more detailed instructions about what he needed to collect, and Iwaizumi did his best to commit as much as possible to memory. 

"Maybe," he said desperately, stepping back. "Maybe the trial will go in your favour."

Hanamaki blinked tiredly. "It won't."

The guard burst through the door, eyes wide. "Shit - my relief is coming and I'm supposed to be in here-"

Their eyes narrowed at the closeness between Matsukawa and Iwaizumi. Matsukawa grinned sleepily at the guard, who grimaced, averting their eyes. 

Iwaizumi withdrew from the partition, nodding at the guard. "The conditions meet our standards just fine. I'll see you at the trial."

He left quickly, without a glance at them, before the guard got a chance to question him. He'd see them in the morning. First, time to scribble down all of the plants before he forgot.

The trial was held in the training arena, converted into a makeshift courthouse. 

Iwaizumi's eyes flickered over to the broken wall, and Akaashi, beside him, brushed his fingers against his arm. Iwaizumi had rehashed words to himself again and again, trying to find the right phrasing, trying to say the truth of how they were innocent without saying the full truth, and ended up with nothing. 

He was good at bringing people back down to earth with the truth. He wasn't good at twisting it to his own advantage. 

"It will be okay," Akaashi murmured out, and Iwaizumi had to hold himself back from flinching. "For me, maybe." 

"What do you mean?" Akaashi asked, eyes bright. "They're holding a trial for them. That's more than most magickers receive…" He trailed off, eyebrows furrowing gently together. His fingers tightened around Iwaizumi's arm. "I hope…" He shook his head. "I doubt that this trial will be fair, but I pray that it will be. I will do my best to weigh up the evidence fairly."

“You know the charge of murder already isn’t fair," Iwaizumi said lowly, measuring his words carefully through his rigid tongue. "They were probably acting in self defence -“

“Probably,” Akaashi amended. “We don’t know that.” 

“I- well, yeah, we don’t,” Iwaizumi stumbled out. "The point is, they've already branded them as murderers. Make your own judgement, Keiji. Not on biases.”

Out of the corner, he spotted a flash of dirty blonde hair, and steeled himself. "You know how these people are. They're murderers. This trial is just to make us more favourable towards them, to show us that they're not the brutes we think they are. Do you think that every magicker they come across gets a hearing like this?" 

Akaashi exhaled. His hand slipped off Iwaizumi's arm. "You're right. They know we work differently, on a majority-based system. If our members see them as like us, it’ll make the joining a lot easier…"

"We have to stop this though. I don't care if we use their numbers, as long as it's on our terms."

Akaashi's cheek twitched. "Hajime, we do need their cooperation too - we cannot affect anything if we are too weak. Anything that makes Osamu more affable towards us is an advantage.” 

"We have Kunimi, we can use him -"

"Kunimi is a relatively minor lord, and how do you propose we guard him as well as have men out in the field, not to mention sending delegations to negotiate -"

"Fine," Iwaizumi cut across him. His jaw snapped shut, speaking through thinned lips. Akaashi’s calm, cold logic wasn’t always welcome. "I get it." 

He turned his head, watching as Atsumu drifted over to them. He didn't want to see Akaashi's expression. It stung, knowing he was partially responsible for this. But… if he hadn't resigned, if Atsumu hadn't called over the Osole, would Matsukawa and Hanamaki have been brought here to demonstrate their compliance with the Form's rules? Would they already be dead?

His hand found his forearm, where Matsukawa's hand had laid. Why hadn't they called for his help?

"Hey." 

Iwaizumi blinked out of his thoughts, watching Atsumu grin. "Are you guys ready for this? "

"Tell me, do they have any chance at defending themselves?" Iwaizumi asked, and Atsumu shrugged. "Maybe if they didn't do it. Or pin the blame on someone else. I doubt it, though. My brother's pretty heated about this. And Kita's… well, you'll see. He ain't a pushover either."

Iwaizumi glanced over to Osamu's impassive expression. It looked like he could break a brick off of his cheek and it wouldn't budge. "That's him heated?"

Atsumu angled his head back, lazily observing his brother. "Yep. Hard t'tell, but he's mad."

As he brought his head back around, something caught his eye, and he frowned. His gaze was locked somewhere behind Iwaizumi. 

“Huh? When did that get there?"

Iwaizumi's heart stuttered as soon as he tracked where his gaze had landed. Atsumu was staring at the fractured training wall, eyes flat, analytical. 

Iwaizumi swallowed. "It's - I struck it a little too hard the other day." 

“You?" Atsumu raised his eyebrows. "Maybe my brother isn't the only one here with anger issues." 

“It was my fault,” Akaashi said. “I heightened his anger a little - we were testing his awareness of his emotions during battle.” 

“Why didn’t ya call me? I coulda increased the power of Akaashi’s attacks.”

“Clearly Hajime-san was still struggling with my regular strength,” Akaashi pointed out. “I thought it would be better not to push him for now.” 

“Sure that’s how ya learn."

“That is how we end up with an even bigger hole in our wall," Akaashi said, then a shout rang out across the room. 

"Council members!"

The crowd shuffled, and Atsumu slapped Akaashi on the back. "Our turn, ain't it? See you afterwards, Iwaizumi. This won't take long."

Iwaizumi had almost forgotten that the council members were the jury, joint Osole and the Form, a show of unity and strength against the murderous skuts. He felt bile rise in his throat. 

Akaashi raised a hand, bidding him farewell as they made their way to the stand, where Osamu and Kita were seated. Four seats in a crescent, slightly elevated, looking down into the designated circle. Iwaizumi's gaze panned around the room, searching for where they'd be brought in. People - Osole and Form members alike - were beginning to congregate around the edges, sitting cross-legged on the floor, talking lowly between themselves. Iwaizumi wondered if they were excited to see a trial, or if they were excited to see a damnation. He prayed it was the former. 

He heard chains shaking and he whipped his head to the side, where Hanamaki was being shoved through a doorway, near the circle. People parted ahead of him, but Iwaizumi swore he saw one spit on him. He winced as another smacked his cheek with a jovial chuckle. Makki's eyes were as sharp as a freshly polished dagger, shrugging to wipe the spit off of his jaw with his shoulder. 

Matsukawa followed soon after, his height dimmed by how far he was bent forwards. Iwaizumi's hand found his forearm - how he should've been there to prevent this, how he wished they would've called for his help. Even if he had failed, he would've tried. He would be in this situation with them. 

But he was here now, and he had to do everything he could to help them. There was no use in dwelling on the "could." 

His fingers flipped over the brooch in his pocket. Quietly, he slipped up closer to the clear area, settling himself to the side, about three rows of people away from Hanamaki and Matsukawa, close enough to see their expressions.

Kita raised a hand. "Quiet."

The word was unnecessary. As soon as his hand went up, the Osole members shut up, and the Form, responding to the change in atmosphere, dropped their voices too. The chatter was extinguished completely as soon as he said the word. Iwaizumi felt a little twinge of something in his stomach - respect? Fear? Both? 

“Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro,” Kita read out, his hands steady. “The charges are of seventeen counts of murder, one of our own, and sixteen residents of the mountain village of Bunt. The consequences of your actions is execution by public display, as a warning to other magickers. Do you understand the charges?” 

"What if I say no?" Hanamaki asked, and Osamu drummed his fingers along the table. "Then you die now for obstruction of justice."

"In that case, yes." 

All eyes turned to Matsukawa, who silently inclined his head forwards. 

"Good," Kita affirmed, dipping his head in acknowledgement. His hair, under the darkness wrapping around the ceiling, appeared grey. “We can continue. This trial will take place on behalf of the families of the deceased, in absence of a functional justice system by the central castle. With permission from the families, the names of the dead will be stated, in honour of their memory and the life they have lived. They will not be forgotten.”

Kita's gaze dropped.

"Inouye Ren. Taira Momoko. Hatanaka Natsumi. Tominaga Masaaki. Nomura Sora. Nishimura Orochi. Hora Katsu.“

Iwaizumi's heart felt like it was being wrung out. He did that. He had lost control and sent branches flying into people, rocks scattering amongst the villagers. His fists curled up on his lap. Nobody dared to even murmur. Out of the corner of his eye, Iwaizumi saw eyes crease up, eyebrows softening in sympathy. 

“Ige Midori. Igarashi Norio. Goda Usagi. Okazaki Akemi. Sugimoto Akihiro.“

Choking. Iwaizumi couldn’t breathe. He saw Akaashi eye him, and Iwaizumi dropped his head. By the Lady, please let Akaashi mistake the panic strangling his lungs as fear of being discovered as a magicker. Kita's assured voice kept on.

“Hayakawa Masayoshi. Mukai Shigeko. Konishi Maiko. Matsubara Yori. Sanda Akiko.“

Matsukawa and Hanamaki stayed expressionless. They were bearing the consequences. The consequences that should’ve been Iwaizumi’s. 

He’d fix this. He had to. 

Kita presented the evidence clearly and cleanly. It left little room for doubt. Seventeen people dead, most by fallen debris or dislodged rock, two by blood loss. Impossible for an ordinary human to achieve. Impossible for a freak hurricane to do alone, and highly unlikely too. Hanamaki could've put the hole through her neck. The waking villagers had leftover symptoms of mild _trye_ poisoning - which results in nausea, then spells of dizziness and blackout. Commonly administered by smoke inhalation. The burnt-out village, easily achieved by the extra magicker hands. People had testified to seeing them in the village. Identities hidden by dark cloaks. 

Iwaizumi tried to quieten down his breathing. Truth mixed in with bullshit. 

Kita finished. Osamu himself, despite Atsumu's claims of him being heated, had been quiet through the entire trial. Until now.

“Hanamaki and Matsukawa, you have two minutes to defend yourself. Use your time wisely.” 

Matsukawa and Hanamaki glanced at each other. 

“A hurricane came along just as we were about to let them burn us peacefully to death with no resistance," Matsukawa told them. His dark eyes never dipped, passing from Osamu, Kita, Atsumu, Akaashi, slow and deliberate. "Can we go now?” 

"And how did Kurenai end up with a hole through her neck? As well as one villager with his throat slit?" Something in Osamu's voice was wavering, a fluctuation that wasn't there before. 

"How are we supposed to know?" Hanamaki's expression didn't alter a fraction. "We weren't out there in the storm. That'd be stupid. We'd probably die."

“Like them," Matsukawa added. 

Despite his risen shoulders, Osamu managed to stay impassive. “There was somebody else there. We know this. The villagers may have their short-term memory wiped, but they remember her saying there were five magickers, not two. Just give them up, and maybe your sentencing will be eased.” 

Again, Matsukawa and Hanamaki shared a look, and something tugged in Iwaizumi's gut. He knew a version of what that felt like, to read someone's words and thoughts from their face alone. He prayed that they were going to say something smart, but he wasn't sure what they could say at this point. Could they blame someone else without implicating who it was? Did they have any hope of a merciful verdict?

"Oh yeah, I remember the real story now. " Hanamaki paused, scanning the courtroom. "The truth is, she tripped and fell on her own sickle."

"Very sad," Matsukawa said, voice deep with sympathy. "Must've stumbled over a branch." 

Iwaizumi sighed under his breath. 

Osamu's jaw tensed. "She was one of our best fighters. Don't waste our time with this bullshit. Just confess." 

"We just came out of our cave and she was dead. No idea how the guy died. Maybe he just pissed off one of his neighbours. Nothing to do with us," Matsukawa insisted. "How could we inflict a wound like that on her anyway?"

"Your partner is a Shifter, he can inflict any sort of wound," Osamu informed them. "So now that you've presented your useless, baseless arguments, do you have any closing statements? I would advise a confession." 

Hanamaki shrugged. The movement looked painful - he could only lift his shoulders up a slight bit before them dropping back down under the weight of his iron-sealed hands. "We didn't do it."

"We definitely didn't do it," Matsukawa added on. "Pinky promise."

“Just. Admit. It." Osamu spoke softly, but Iwaizumi felt a shiver snake up his spine. 

“Shit,” Matsukawa muttered under his breath.

“We all know you did it - as for whether you continue to cover for your associates or not, we will still have justice.” 

"If this is how you justify your own hatred to yourself, go right ahead," Matsukawa told him, and Osamu slammed a fist down onto his desk. 

"You fucking filthy _skuts_ think you can get away with anything, don't you? Because you were born better than us-"

"Osamu."

Osamu shut his mouth. 

"Oh, by the way," Matsukawa mentioned, his eyelids shifting almost lazily up to Osamu. "You know I'm going to kill you for what you did to Hiro, right?"

Osamu's stormy eyes narrowed.

Kita rose. “Your time is up. The jury will decide your punishment. Come back in two hours. We'll inform you if deliberations take longer."

Iwaizumi's jaw clenched as murmurs cascaded around him, building up to chatter. He couldn't go to them. It would look suspicious, and with Akaashi knowing what he knew... Iwaizumi felt dread flow through him, and he stole a glance at Akaashi, whose expression was unreadable. Would he carry through with what the Osole wanted? Would he give Iwaizumi up while he was at it?

Iwaizumi would like to think that their friendship was stronger than that, but his loyalty to the Form and their rules was solid, too. Either way, he felt a pull of empathy. He shook thoughts of his own safety out of his mind. Akaashi wouldn't betray him. Makki and Mattsun were who mattered now, to hell with his own wellbeing. Akaashi didn't know them. He didn't know the truth.

Standing, Iwaizumi shoved his way forwards, too encompassed in his own head to realise the dirty looks people were aiming at him. He should've told Akaashi the truth earlier - he should've done more than say vaguely to trust his instincts. It would put Akaashi in an even more difficult situation, but Iwaizumi couldn't let him decide without knowing everything. If it looked suspicious, fuck it. 

"Keiji, I have to-"

Akaashi turned. His face was flat, unreadable. "What is it?"

Iwaizumi felt the prickle of many, many heavy gazes. He sucked in a breath. "Can I talk to you alone?"

"Hey, what urgent information does Akaashi need to know that we don't?" Atsumu said. 

"If it is to do with the trial, I can put you forward as a witness," Kita suggested, and Iwaizumi's hands rose. 

"No - I mean, I... "

How the hell was he doing this? How the fuck could he explain that he was there and couldn't identify any other magicker or explain fully what happened? 

Kita blinked. "If it has nothing to do with this trial, can you wait until after our decision?"

"They're innocent," Iwaizumi blurted out. 

Nobody moved. 

"Can you prove it?" Osamu's voice was detached. "We have many people placing them at the scene, at that exact time of the murders. Can you refute that with evidence pointing otherwise?"

"I…" Iwaizumi licked his lips. 

Akaashi stepped forwards, resting a hand on Iwaizumi's shoulder. "Hajime, please calm yourself. There's no use in throwing around statements like that. We will give them the fairest verdict possible. I promise you that much."

Atsumu's eyes were narrowed. "Just because you think that the Osole goes around perscuting innocent skuts, that doesn't mean that's the truth. You think that all of them are as fuckin' pure as that traitorous Breather you brought in -"

Iwaizumi's hand was around his sword hilt before he knew it, and he was only stopped from lunging by Akaashi's firm hand. 

"Hajime," Akaashi repeated. "Sit down. People are beginning to take notice, and we can't be seen arguing amongst ourselves."

Kita nodded, and Iwaizumi gripped his hilt harder, thorny frustration coursing through him. Stepping back, he dipped his head and shook off Akaashi's hand. 

"Alright."

As he made his way back to his place, he couldn't raise his head. 

Iwaizumi paced the length of the compound, avoiding everyone. Ennoshita inquired about the trial briefly, but Iwaizumi shook them off with a few short words. He knew he should act normal - there was no reason for him to be this invested in the lives of strangers, especially when their damnation - whatever that might be - would cement the bond between their organisations. It would be a brilliant show of unity, an act of justice against those born stronger, better. Equality. 

The thought made Iwaizumi sick.

He ended up spending the last hour by the lake where he'd brought Oikawa. Circling the perimeter, he collected as many plants as he could find that Matsukawa described, tucking them into a bag hanging off his belt. Despite his doubts, he prayed too.

But when the two hours were up, he was right back in the training arena.

"Uh - Matsukawa … Makki, Takahiro, Takaissei…" Osamu glanced down at his sheet of paper. "Ah, who gives a fuck. Whoever you are, you're sentenced to death. It was a unanimous decision, and you have three days to get your affairs in order. Can we eat now?"

There were a few cheers. 

Iwaizumi felt his heart shrink, all of the breath draining from his lungs, his gut wrenching inside him. Fuck. Fuck, fuck - _fuck,_ why did Hanamaki have to be right? Looking at them, he saw their resignation, their expectations fulfilled, and Iwaizumi's knuckles went white. He could almost feel the tingling where he had promised to help them on his forearm. He couldn't let this happen. 

He couldn't stand by and watch this. 

Matsukawa met his eyes as they walked past, shoved by the Osole guard, the chains around his wrists shattering through the crowd's whisperings. And then, a tiny shake of his head, barely perceptible. 

Iwaizumi's fists were shaking in his lap. He looked across to Akaashi, who swallowed, barely meeting his eyes before dragging his gaze down to his hands, neatly folded on his thighs. Standing, Iwaizumi turned his back and marched off, people splitting apart to let him past.

When Iwaizumi slipped into the Room of Order, only Akaashi was there. 

He was standing behind the seat at the top of the room, head lowered, elegant fingers tracing the back of it. Glancing up at the sound of the door opening, he pressed his pink lips together, shoulders rising and dropping in a sigh. 

"Hajime…" Akaashi dipped his face, placing his hands behind his back. "I did everything I could. I don't know why you're so insistent on their innocence but -"

"They're Oikawa's friends," Iwaizumi snapped back, praying Akaashi didn't question him further. He advanced a few steps, consciously concentrating on unballing his fists. "They wouldn't have done anything like that. You saw how careful he was while healing everyone - he wouldn't be friends with murderers."

Shoulders slumping, Akaashi blinked. He tugged out the chair, dropping himself into it. His movements seemed without his characteristic fluidity, as if his limbs were weighted. 

"Even if I had known that, I don't think I could've done anything. Osamu and Atsumu are formidable enough separately, but together…" He shook his head, fingers pinching his strands of his hair, rolling, pulling. "I'm sorry. Kita too was convinced of their guilt, from what the villagers had said and… and from what they told me of the scene, it wasn't pretty. Their families wanted justice done."

Iwaizumi folded his arms across his chest, trying to temper his anger. He couldn't do anything, either. But Akaashi was _there._ He had the power that Iwaizumi had stupidly given up -

"And," Akaashi continued quietly, running his fingers along the table's surface. "I have a sense that the twins themselves never got that sort of justice for their own family. That sort of determination doesn't come from only simple concern of your fellow citizens."

"That doesn't give them the right to kill every magicker they see - you know if Oikawa walked in here they’d kill him." Iwaizumi paused. "They'd try to kill him." 

His fingers stilling, hovering along the wood, Akaashi exhaled. “So this is about Oikawa. Not the betterment of Katachi as a whole.”

Iwaizumi's irritation flared up. “And it isn’t about Bokuto? Don't tell me that you aren't even considering his wellbeing-” 

“Don’t bring Bokuto-san into this,“ Akaashi snapped out, slamming his palm down onto the table. "You intentionally stepped down and ran away from this fight - you don't get to stand over me and judge what I should do in my position. You had a chance to be in this position yourself! I will make my own choices as to the future of Katachi and I refuse to have my judgement clouded by _your_ personal sentiments."

"This isn't about Katachi!" Iwaizumi argued back, Akaashi's emerald eyes attempting to slice through his own. They reminded him of vines, snarling and lashing out, to trap and tear apart. "They only want to kill everyone with white -"

"To prevent the mistakes from the past happening again!"

Iwaizumi couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard Akaashi’s voice this highly-strung, this emotional. He swallowed hard, the realisation of just how much stress Akaashi must be under hitting home. He couldn’t afford to lose his temper. 

"That's not going to happen," Iwaizumi said desperately, spreading his hands. "Keiji, that's only if Kae gets control-"

"And how do you propose we stop her?" Akaashi's back was rigid, his hands laced tight. "Exactly how, Hajime? If you have a plan, now’s the time to pitch it to me.” 

Iwaizumi almost flinched at the hardness of his given name, the punch Akaashi held in his words. His chest deflated. He had no plan. He just knew this was wrong. 

As if knowing, Akaashi closed his eyes. His expression evened out again, shoulders sloping down again. For the first time, it struck Iwaizumi just how low the bags under his eyes hung, how flaky his usually supple skin appeared.

"We can't be arguing over this," Akaashi continued, and Iwaizumi shook his head even though Akaashi couldn't see, inflating his chest with a breath to disagree.

This was something they definitely should be arguing over.

The door swung open, and Iwaizumi closed his mouth. Ennoshita stepped through first, holding the door open and looking back. Kunimi followed them in, looking about as unbothered as Iwaizumi recalled. Iwaizumi nodded at Ennoshita, and rested his back against the wall. 

"He wasn't too much trouble, was he?"

Kunimi shot him a sideways glare as Ennoshita aimed a half-grin at him. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

Iwaizumi cracked a smile in return. "I thought so."

"Hello, Kunimi-sama," Akaashi greeted, and Kunimi inclined his head, eyes travelling around the empty room, wandering the length of the circular table with the weathered map. 

"Where's the rest?"

Akaashi offered him a dry smile, gesturing to the seats. "They entrusted the negotiations to me. Hajime is just here to oversee things. To ensure that they go smoothly, if you will."

Giving him an uneasy glance, Kunimi nodded. "Alright." 

Kunimi sat at the back of the Room of Order, sullenly tracking Ennoshita's exit. The expanse of the table gaped. To Iwaizumi, it was almost as if the distance between them was stretched out more, the calm coldness on either side expanding the wood. 

“I assume you know why you’re here,” Akaashi began. 

Despite his audible, calming breath, Iwaizumi could still see twitches of his lips that weren't natural, a fluctuation sneaking into his voice. He wasn't as good of an actor as Oikawa was. 

Kunimi nodded. “You want me to give you troops to help remove Kae from the castle.” 

“Correct.” 

“And you thought kidnapping was the most diplomatic approach.” 

“Would you have listened to a message from an organisation you had never heard from before?” 

Akaashi poised the question as if it was a weapon. Hesitating, Kunimi shook his head. 

“Then you understand our reasons, and we can proceed.” 

Linking his fingers together, Akaashi leaned his chin on them, pretty face patient, yielding. Kunimi examined the corners of the ceiling. 

Iwaizumi was glad he wasn’t the one negotiating. 

"You require grain."

Kunimi's chin lowered, slowly meeting Akaashi's eyes. "You guys have that much influence over villages that they pay you in grain?"

"We… had a deal with the king," Akaashi began. "A small share of the taxes for our discreet forces. We aim to have that system running again soon, with your cooperation of course." 

"And in return, military strength."

Akaashi nodded. "The particulars of which we can work out now."

"What is the point?" Kunimi gestured around. "You aren't going to let me go until a deal is cut, so why bother with the niceties?"

"Because," Akaashi explained softly. "The type of deal made will depend on you. I advise you to cooperate quickly." He drew his gaze over to Iwaizumi, slouched back against the wall. "We tend to grow impatient if left waiting."

Iwaizumi inhaled sharply. He wasn't insinuating that… was he? Abruptly, he realised what it meant to be one of the king's advisors - Akaashi wasn't often at the castle, being sent away to strike trade deals with the North and Westlands, and so Oikawa didn't recognise him, but the sharpness was out in the open now. He knew that ruthlessness. It felt familiar, a little echo of Oikawa.

Kunimi’s gaze dragged over to him. “He won’t do shit. You might want to bring in the other one to threaten people with.” 

Iwaizumi tried to straighten out his face, but he had a suspicion that his thoughts had been more than open to read to the perceptive boy. Mild irritation flared in him, and he deepened his expression into a scowl. 

“Won’t I?” He asked, lowering his voice to a rumble. He tensed his arms, feeling the strain of the material stretched across his skin. 

Kunimi looked unimpressed. 

“How certain are you?” Akaashi said quietly. “But, if you are that sure, we can easily bring in Ushijima.” 

His nose scrunching up, lips curling back slightly, Kunimi gave a slight shake of his head. 

“Good.” Akaashi’s voice was as even as ever. “Then we can continue.” 

Blinking slow, Kunimi's long, slender fingers picked at the edge of the table, his expression adrift. Flakes of wood came loose, fluttering into his lap. "And you are the people who want to take control of the country?"

"We will."

Akaashi spoke hard. It brought the image of Yaku's hammer striking iron into Iwaizumi's mind. 

Kunimi's eyelashes flickered. "Then let's talk."

Iwaizumi stood at Goshiki's branding, feeling a sinking in his stomach. 

Ushijima stepped up to his shoulder. "He's not ready."

Chewing his lip, Iwaizumi observed Akaashi pick his way around the pool in the middle, some trepidation in his movements, not as smooth and calculated as usual. He spread out some cloths on the hard ground. "Well, he thinks he is."

"I understand that we need more fighters," Ushijima said. "But this is too hasty."

"The Council approved," Iwaizumi said tiredly, as if they both weren’t there when it happened. "We have to respect it."

"I will. But I do not like it." 

Iwaizumi's eyes skipped across to the sword, hung above the shrine in ribbon, nailed to the wooden wall. The pain of the heated blade was something he could never forget, branded into him as surely as the mark was. Thing was, he had had Daichi with him. Goshiki was alone. 

Goshiki himself was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking like he, too, was swaying between fear and anticipation. 

"What do you think the Lady will gift him?" Iwaizumi asked, if only to break the horrible, horrible quiet. 

"I am unsure if the Lady will gift him anything at all," Ushijima replied. "His body and mind are not developed enough to bear the weight of the mark." 

"Well, they don't seem to think so," Iwaizumi murmured. 

The room, small and constrict as it was, seemed even smaller in Osamu and Kita's presence. Atsumu hovered near his brother, looking bored. But by requirement, all members of the inner council had to be present. There were only a few others though, a few of Goshiki's friends chatting in the corner, likely speculating what gift the first of them to get marked would receive. 

Osamu's murmurs were too clear, echoing above Moniwa's jet-black pool. "...when we shoved its hands in, I think the metal was too cold. I don't trust that it'll hold it. It killed three of us, who cares if its hands get a little messed up?"

"Any temperature higher would've been cruel," Kita replied, and Iwaizumi's mouth drew dry. "I see what you're saying about the security of it - after all, if he's not restrained properly more will die."

"Exactly."

"We'll use this as a test," Kita concluded. "We can discuss this after. I think it's about to start."

Iwaizumi's head was reeling. They were talking about Makki, weren't they? They had to have been. He blinked, trying to refocus on the scene in front of him, of Goshiki laying down next to the pool, but it was difficult, difficult when he was coming to terms with the fact that those _fuckers put Makki's hands in molten metal._ He felt heat spark between his temples and struggled to calm himself, his fists bunching up, almost vibrating by his sides. 

Moniwa knelt beside Goshiki, murmuring some words to him that Iwaizumi couldn't hear, but his heart clenched. Goshiki was younger than him when he was branded at eighteen, and even though he was capable, being trained by Ushijima - he didn't feel good about this. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ushijima's great shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. 

Moniwa produced the marking blade. It was one of Yaku's greatest creations, many blades unfolding from the hilt like a flower, melding in and out of each other to part into four knife-like tips at the end. Absently, Iwaizumi rubbed the spot where it had pierced through his skin, imprinting the scar of two x’s overlaid. The pain was something he'd never forgotten, but it had given him a family. He'd nearly broken Daichi's hand, he was clutching onto it so hard. 

Daichi.

Was he okay? Did he trust Oikawa that much? 

Dipping the multi-layered sword into the pool, Moniwa waited for Akaashi to hold up the fabric of Goshiki's sleeve, revealing his soft inner arm. Iwaizumi tried to push unnecessary emotions down, suppress the anxiety tangling around his heart. He glanced across to Ushijima, who looked like he hadn't felt any useless emotion in his life, and grimaced. 

He began muttering a prayer underneath his breath.

Goshiki traced the path of the dripping sword with wide eyes, biting down on his lip. A droplet landed on his cheek as Moniwa positioned it over his arm. 

"Are you ready?" Moniwa asked, his voice low, calm. 

Goshiki nodded, and Moniwa plunged the sword into his flesh. Iwaizumi saw Goshiki shove a hand inside his mouth, clamping down on his fingers as a muffled cry ripped up through his throat, Moniwa slowly sliding the sword downwards all the while, speaking The Lady's words fast. As the blackness sunk into the wound, power rippled through Goshiki's body, his spine arching, heels slamming down on the stone. 

Iwaizumi remembered that feeling. He had been left with bruises all over his body. Swallowing, he started on another prayer, keeping his thoughts and eyes fixed on Goshiki's warped face. He heard a clink - the sound of the sword tip meeting stone. It was impressive how Yaku had made a sword that could slice through bone. He told himself not to worry - Goshiki would be healed, just like him. If the mark took. 

“Goshiki?” Ushijima called out.

“I’m fine-“

Goshiki couldn't finish his sentence. He let out a fresh scream, Moniwa having to kneel on his arm to keep the blade in place, so he wouldn't wrench it away. Blood drained down from the raised outer rim of the pool, mixed with the black liquid Moniwa was using, dribbling down around stones. Iwaizumi's chest squeezed. Had there been that much blood when he was branded? Had it taken this long?

"That's enough!"

Ushijima's bellow jumped Iwaizumi into action, and he scrambled up to them, a step behind Ushijima. Moniwa held out a hand, his mouth set. "I understand your concerns, but if we stop now he'll lose his arm -"

"If we don't stop now he'll lose his life," Ushijima said, drawing closer. "It's going wrong. You know this."

"We don't know that for sure -"

"I do," Ushijima stated, and Moniwa's eyes flickered to Iwaizumi, begging for help. 

Iwaizumi felt paraylsed. Ushijima was always too sure of himself, too certain that him and his beliefs were right. But - he looked at Goshiki, whose face was white, so white that it twisted Iwaizumi's gut, his head snapping back off of the rock as a spasm rocked through him - Ushijima knelt, using his palms to shield Goshiki's head - and glared at Moniwa. Iwaizumi had rarely seen him so angry.

"Stop this. Now."

Moniwa pulled the sword out of Goshiki's arm with a wet, slick sound, and Goshiki fell limp. He would've tumbled down the incline if Iwaizumi hadn't stooped down, steadying him. His whole upper arm was a mess of blood and pink muscle, crimson soaking into the side of his shirt, matting his black hair. Iwaizumi felt another presence by his side - Akaashi, leaning down with his ear over Goshiki's mouth. 

"He's still breathing," Akaashi confirmed, and Iwaizumi's sigh echoed Moniwa's.

"I - I'm sorry," Moniwa said, pressing a cloth to Goshiki's arm with his weight behind it. The blood still diffused out through the brown cloth too quickly, turning it black. "I thought he'd be alright. Sometimes it's tough on the body and that happens but…" 

"Enough with the excuses," Ushijima interrupted, bundling an unconscious Goshiki into his arms. "We need to get him tended to, or he might lose more than his arm."

Iwaizumi felt the stares of the Miya twins as they hustled through the group of Goshiki's friends, dispersed with one sweep of Ushijima's arm and Akaashi's forceful suggestion. His instincts called to bring Goshiki to Mattsun - with his knowledge, surely he could help - but his mind said otherwise. What were the chances of convincing Ushijima to turn to a magicker for help?

A few minutes later, he slumped back outside the door of the medicine room, closing his eyes. He could hear Ushijima's deep, insistent voice mingling strangely with Akaashi's higher, smoother pitch, but he couldn't make out words. It was an auditory blur. He wouldn't be able to fit in there with them. He wasn't sure if he would be any use, even if he did. 

He wished Oikawa was here. 

“Ushijima was the only one who was brave enough to step in.” Iwaizumi’s voice was heavy, despite it being a brittle whisper. “I stood there.” 

Nobody met his eyes. 

"This isn't how it used to be."

Nobody argued with him. The corridor was empty. 

Iwaizumi pressed the ball of his palms against his eyes. They were dangerously hot. "Fuck." 

It seemed like an age before Akaashi emerged, the crescents etched beneath his eyes more haggard than ever. Iwaizumi pushed off of the wall, examining his expression anxiously. 

"He'll survive." Akaashi wet his lips. "Just about." 

Kita offered to tend to him. Apparently he was the one most capable of medicine in the Osole, and although it didn't sit right with Iwaizumi, he reminded himself that they had no reason not to take care of him. And as Iwaizumi gazed down at Goshiki's earnest face - young, so young - he felt something crack. It might've been his faith. It might've been his family. But something had gone, and he suspected it was gone for good. 

Iwaizumi trailed back to his room with a weighted chest. He felt like he had inhaled the black water, the darkness seeping into his lungs, and it wouldn't leave no matter how hard he breathed. 

Pulling off his boots, Iwaizumi set them neatly beside his bed. He exhaled, stepping back into the centre of his room, casting a last glance towards the door. It was locked. 

Iwaizumi let out a little power. 

He was pushed abruptly upwards, and almost smacked his head off of the ceiling. Almost. But not quite. Iwaizumi was sure if he had tried that a week ago, his thick skull would’ve been buried in the dirt. 

He stumbled a bit on the landing, but managed not to topple over. A small sense of satisfaction flourished through his chest. He knew he had propelled himself and Oikawa up an aqueduct, but that was a lot easier - he didn't have to stop most of the power from coming out, no control necessary. This - a foot, two feet - off the ground was a much bigger victory. 

He felt the rest squirming within him, and he shut his eyes, working on his breathing, concentrating on calming the throbbing heat behind his pupils. He thought of Oikawa and his breathing while he was asleep, the slight sliding of his inhale through his mouth, and latched onto the comforting rhythm, matching his own breathing to it. 

He did his best to push the events of the negotiation and the branding out of his mind. He couldn't do anything about either now. And the negotiation had gone well - why was he still feeling so uneasy? Kunimi had agreed half-heartedly to their terms - without Iwaizumi having to strongarm, to his immense relief. He wasn't sure if he believed Kunimi, but he was sure the whole facade would've crumbled if Akaashi had asked him to press more... forcefully, and Iwaizumi had refused. He had… done things he wasn't proud of before, under the king's instruction, but never on a boy. Iwaizumi was sure it had been an act to scare Kunimi and that alone, but… it would've been nice of Akaashi to fill him in beforehand. 

Maybe he had intended to, before the argument. 

A knock sounded on his door, and he glanced around quickly, as if there could be proof of him practicing magic laying around. It was normal for him to be in socked feet in his room, right? His hand flew up to his hair, brushing along the stiff bristles anxiously. It was fine. It had worked until now - it would work. His mind offered up an unwelcome reminder that people weren't actually looking for white marks before, and there was nobody who would be knocking on his door - bar perhaps Atsumu - who would try to kill him on sight. 

He exhaled. No use thinking about it now - if he delayed answering the door anymore, it would be suspicious. Padding over to the door, he swung it open.

Relief filtered through him, even as guilt fluttered across Akaashi's face. Yaku stood beside him, inclining his head up at Hajime. After a trok, Akaashi’s gaze drifted away from him. “I don’t know if you want to see me, but we have some things we need to discuss.”

Iwaizumi blew out a breath. “Yeah. Hey, Morisuke.”

"Hey, Hajime."

He stepped back, letting Akaashi and Yaku into his room. "It's not as if I'm not glad to see you guys -" he glanced at Akaashi, who avoided his eyes "-but why are you here?"

"Are you alright?" Yaku asked him, laying a hand on his arm, squeezing. "You haven't seemed yourself the last few days."

"Am I alright? After what happened to Goshiki?" Iwaizumi let out a bitter chuckle. "You're asking the wrong person here, Morisuke." 

"I don't think so," Akaashi said gently. "You're a mess emotionally, and I don't need my gift to see that. Tell us what's going on."

Iwaizumi gave him a flat look, and Akaashi's cheek tensed. "We're all on edge. After the failed branding"

"It started a hell of a lot earlier before the branding," Iwaizumi cut across him. "It started the instant I stepped down, the instant the Osole arrived and crushed the plants. Trying to justify the killing of two magickers was just the crux of it. The evidence didn't add up for shit, and both of you know it."

Yaku surveyed him. "If they didn't murder that woman, they were unlucky enough to be there at that exact time."

"It happens," Iwaizumi answered, and Yaku's mouth pulled downwards. "I guess." 

Akaashi exhaled, slow and deliberate. "I apologise for what I said, Hajime. I'm under… a bit of stress at the moment. Both of the Miyas are stubborn and intent on doing things their own way. I took my frustration at my own helplessness out on you."

Iwaizumi felt an understanding simmer through him, and he shook his head. "You have nothing to apologise for. I guess… I did run away, in a sense. I thought I was leaving the Form in better, more capable hands, but I never expected this." 

"I don't think any of us did," Akaashi said gently. "I don't even think Atsumu predicted how harsh his brother could be. They've been separated for a number of years now, to my knowledge. It appears that Osamu has become even colder." 

"Well, he is the head of those bastards," Yaku pointed out, taking a book from Iwaizumi's table and flipping it over in his hands. As Iwaizumi recalled, his hands always had to be working, moving, along with his thoughts. "What do you expect? That the leader of the shitheads is going to be all warm and cosy?" His brow furrowed, a vertical shadow cutting down the middle. "Osamu is asking me for a lot of armour. And I mean, a lot. There's no way he's not preparing for all-out war."

Iwaizumi sat down heavily on his bed, running his hands back through his hair. "Fuck. There's nothing we can do? There has to be something."

"I've been looking for ways to try and reinstate you as head of the Form," Akaashi started, pulling out Iwaizumi's desk chair and sitting down. "But the old rules are thorough." He paused. "And very, very long. When the split happened between us, our respective leaders at the time seemed to think that a merger was inevitable, that we'd have to work together again."

"I appreciate the effort." Iwaizumi sighed. "But… if you can't do anything, I doubt I could, either."

"I did find something, though," Akaashi mentioned, and Yaku turned to him, eyebrows lifted. "You didn't tell me that."

"Because I knew you would try to discourage me from telling Hajime-san about it," Akaashi answered calmly, and Yaku's brow climbed even higher. "Um-"

"The Osole was built on individual strengths, and they respect everyone's skill," Akaashi continued, ignoring the look Yaku gave him. "They don't work like us, on a voting system for leadership - it's all based on strength, of the body and mind. Osamu had to beat the previous leader to obtain the role, even if most people backed him up. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"Oh no," Yaku interrupted, glancing across at Iwaizumi, his slender shoulders curling inwards. "Don't even think about it. Some random person can come in and challenge the leader?"

Akaashi nodded, keeping his eyes trained on Iwaizumi. They were glinting. "Yes. In their eyes, if they are more skilled, they are worthy of the role. Whether or not they are already part of them doesn't matter." 

"They're not very smart, are they?" Yaku deadpanned. 

Exhaling hard, Iwaizumi leaned backwards, tracing the swirling patterns in the wood above. "If I do beat him and take control of the Osole, will they all have to follow what I say?"

Akaashi nodded. "They won't like it, but they will have to. But there will be a lot more after him challenging you, even if you do succeed." 

"If this works - and if you do it," Yaku mentioned, pale yellow eyes fixated on Iwaizumi. "What would it achieve? Atsumu would still be head of the Form, and he's going to carry out his brother's will." 

"Co-head," Akaashi corrected. "With Hajime on our side, we would hold a majority and be able to overturn his decisions if needed. But even so - Atsumu is not as radical as his brother. He is on our side, as tenuous as that statement is."

Iwaizumi closed his eyes. He wished that the concept of "sides" wasn't being so blurred, that he still knew that the Form had his back and he had theirs. "So if I manage to beat him in combat, I could force Osole to withdraw, and handle this our own way I could free Kunimi, and those magickers, too."

He opened his eyes, Akaashi and Yaku's gazes trained on him. They both nodded.

“You could propose a retrial,” Akaashi said. “You won’t be able to free them right away, but you would certainly be able to delay the verdict.” 

“We’ll find the numbers from somewhere else,” Yaku stated. "Fuck knows where, but we will."

"I should mention," Akaashi began. "The fight is to the death or until one surrenders."

"Osamu's one stubborn bastard if he's anything like his brother," Yaku inputted. "Be careful, Hajime. Don't underestimate him." 

Iwaizumi's hands clenched together in his lap. "I have to try." 

And despite everything, he smiled. It wasn't exactly just fear running through him - it was relief, the relief of being able to do something, _anything._ He could finally shake off the weight of helplessness from his shoulders. Maybe the Form still had a chance. Maybe he could save Matsukawa and Hanamaki without the risk of them dying in an escape attempt. 

Akaashi's eyes were dark, focused. "When will you be ready to fight him? We have three days. Osamu was pushing for them to be executed tomorrow morning, but we insisted on giving them time to write their goodbyes, at the very least."

"Don't say 'executed'." Iwaizumi held Akaashi's bemused gaze. "That implies that they've done something to be punished for."

Akaashi inclined his head in silent acknowledgement. Iwaizumi wasn't certain if he believed him or not, but it didn't matter, as long as he helped get them free. 

"Shall I set up a time and place?" Akaashi asked, and Iwaizumi shook his head. "You've done enough. I'll do that myself." 

"If you're sure."

"I am. I want to scope out Osamu more, too." 

They talked for a while longer. Iwaizumi felt guilt creep up on him - during all of this, he hadn't thought of Daichi much at all. They didn't even know if he was alive for certain - could he really trust Oikawa? And yet, he felt the horrible powerlessness - what could he do on his own? They discussed trading Kunimi for his safety, Akaashi promising to bring it up in the next gathering. Yaku told him of the Osole blacksmiths helping him out with weapons and armour - and how they didn't trust him fully either, simply because he was blessed by a gift from the Lady. 

"But," he declared, smugly crossing his arms over his chest. "If they want their shit to be resistant to white, they have to pass it all through me. So they can take that and shove it up their asses."

Iwaizumi snorted. Yaku's blunt way of putting things never failed to put him at ease. But - he had something in mind to do before the fight, so he gently hinted for them to leave.

"Get the fuck out. I gotta prepare for the fight."

"What sword are you using?" Yaku asked, bypassing his polite comment completely. He hopped off Iwaizumi's desk. "The sword you used to have, or the one I made you recently?"

"The one you made me," Iwaizumi answered, pushing him towards the door. "Your craftsmanship is good, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Psh," Yaku dismissed him. "I don't need to hear that to know it's true. Would be nice to get a little bit more appreciation around here, though."

Akaashi snickered, passing by them to open the door. "Morisuke, stop teasing Hajime. He'll need his all his strength to defeat Osamu." 

He nodded back at Iwaizumi. "We'll see you there."

"Hey," Iwaizumi reached out, catching Yaku and Akaashi's shoulders. "Do me a favour. Don't come to the fight."

"Huh?" Yaku's brow wrinkled up. "Why not?"

Akaashi surveyed him, seriousness etched into his drawn face. "My question exactly."

"Because you'll try and step in if things go wrong," Iwaizumi explained, and he heard a huff from beside him, Yaku shaking his head. "That's why we should go to the fight -"

"No." Iwaizumi's voice was low and sure. "Don't. If I see you there I'll throw you out myself. Atsumu can oversee it as a Form delegate, alright?"

At their dubious expressions, Iwaizumi increased his grip, one shoulder hard and lean under his touch, the other bulky and strong. "If I'm doing this, I'm seeing it through until the end. You understand?"

"Hajime," Akaashi began, soft, diplomatic. "You can't expect us to stand aside to allow you to throw your life away for two magickers who might be innocent. It's unreasonable."

"It's my fight," Iwaizumi insisted. "And it's for a hell of a lot more than two magickers. It's for control of the Form and Osole. Think of what we could do with those numbers - of the murders we could stop. Tell me that those lives aren't worth it. I know we can use them now, but it's not the right way. If we move with them, we'll do more harm than good."

"You're insane," Yaku said slowly. His gaze ran over Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi held his breath, waiting. Yaku's hand dropped heavy over his, and he nodded. "You're insane, but I think you can do it. And if things don't work out - well, I'll strangle Osamu myself."

Iwaizumi felt a little smile work its way onto his lips. "That sounds good to me."

“Isn’t Sugawara’s delegate supposed to be arriving soon?” Oikawa mentioned, sliding in next to Kae. Her steps were quick, but as she only reached up to Oikawa's ear, he kept up with ease. Kindaichi followed close by, a step behind ever since Oikawa complained about "your disgusting breath on the back of my neck."

"Yes, as well as a few others," Kae confirmed, flicking through a few sheets, brow furrowed as she scanned down through them.

“Including that man Bokuto.” 

Kae dipped her head. “Yes. It pains me to have to extort Sugawara in this way, but I hope in time he will see why it was necessary."

"I…" Oikawa hesitated, then reprimanded himself. When the fuck did he ever pause? "Speaking of necessaries, I made a proposition for the regulating and reviewing of the magicker justice division. Kae, I strongly advise you to reconsider your actions. There's always going to be corruption -"

"So what if we make _rukes_ sweat a little?" Kae dismissed him with a flourish of her hand. She still didn't look at him. "Maybe after a few years, I will consider your proposal. But the first few years of this will be turbulent, with riots and rebellions, and if we doubt our own - if we are spending our resources to punish our own, it will only prolong the transition period." 

"Kae, if we don't have a court of law - some sort of accountability, war crimes will be committed against civilians," Oikawa pushed desperately. "I've seen it before."

"Then why didn't you do anything like that when you were under Torem's rule? To protect your own?"

Oikawa faltered, falling behind a step. The words felt like salt on his tongue, bitter and melting away. "I was… otherwise occupied." He shook his head, catching back up. "You cannot say that I don't have a point, simply because of my inaction before. Attacking my character doesn't degrade my argument - you _know_ things are going to get bad."

"I know." Kae reached the door. "As long as the outcome will be a more equal world, where Tobio can grow up without fearing for his life, it will be worth it."

She turned her head, and again, Oikawa was struck by how much weary weight gold could carry. "Don't disturb me."

She slipped into her room, and Oikawa sucked in his cheek. He swept away, aware of Kindaichi looking at him, likely wondering whether or not to offer a word of reassurance. 

"I'm fine," Oikawa said briskly, striding back to his study. "If you think two little setbacks are going to deter me, you're wrong."

"I didn't say anything…"

"You were thinking it. I can hear your thoughts."

“I wasn’t aware that was an ability of a Breather.”

"I wasn't aware that you were allowed to give me cheek, Kindaichi-kun."

Iwaizumi rapped gently on the door. "Asahi? Are you in there?"

There was silence. Iwaizumi frowned - didn't Osamu say that they were going to guard the breach? He pressed his fingers to the lightning bolt, and it flashed. The door clicked open. 

"Asahi?" Iwaizumi called out, opening the door with his shoulder. "Hey, where are you?” 

"Oh - Iwaizumi. Sorry, I didn't hear you knock."

Iwaizumi wove through the remaining plants, having to step off the path to avoid a larger rock every so often. Asahi's large back was visible, stooped down at the edge of the rockfall. It didn't surprise Iwaizumi to see that the Osole had made no move to fix it. There were no disconcernable edges to the sections of plants like before - it seemed almost as if the soil underneath them had exploded outwards too, leaving only a tangled mess of colour, smothered by the mud. 

"How's…." the words dimmed on Iwaizumi's tongue.

Asahi was bent over the rubble, picking up stones, rocks, and flinging them into a bucket. Iwaizumi realised that he couldn't use a shovel. One careless or ignorant thrust would damage the plants even further. 

Brushing earth off of one waxy red leaf, Asahi shook his head. "Not good."

He rose up, dirt tumbling from his knees. He didn't look at Iwaizumi when he spoke, entangling his hands together. Packed with earth, they reminded Iwaizumi of roots peeking out of the ground, of great oaks. "Ah….Iwaizumi, I haven't told most of the others yet, but please understand me when I say that I can't stay here. I'm going to Flightless, tomorrow."

"To see Noya?" Iwaizumi asked, and Asahi nodded, his gaze trailing over the broken plants. "I have no reason to stay here. These people are cruel."

Iwaizumi bit his lip. "I'm sorry this happened."

Weak. It was all he could offer. 

He knelt down beside Asahi, pulling the bucket closer. He began to gather soil in his hands. 

Asahi lifted a hand, hovering at the corner of Iwaizumi's eye, as if he was going to physically stop him. "It's okay -"

"No." Iwaizumi's throat was tight. "I contributed to this. I'll help in any way I can."

Asahi nodded. "I'm sorry for leaving like this. I asked Moniwa to tend to the plants that are left until you guys can find a replacement… ah, that's another thing for you to worry about-"

"It's fine," Iwaizumi reassured him, dumping stones in the bucket. He could see the green edge of a leaf peek out. It hadn't wilted yet. "Just go. Will you come back?"

Asahi stared down at the dirt. He curled a grubby hand around his mark. "I don't know yet." He chuckled thinly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess we'll see how things go, huh?"

"Yeah. We will." 

Inclining his head, Iwaizumi left it at that. 

He had come for a different purpose than just to solely check up on Asahi, but he felt incredibly bad for it now. Asahi worked with a steady purpose, and Iwaizumi felt anger build in him with how tightly the soil was packed underneath his short fingernails, how the mud smeared into his skin looked like it would never wash away. 

He'd challenged Osamu before he'd come here. Osamu had accepted his challenge (according to Akaashi, he was bound to by their own internal rules) with a nod, and a quick statement of time and place. Iwaizumi should be using this time to train, the last few hours before the battle, but he couldn't have left Asahi like this. Everyone else was overwhelmed too - Ennoshita working out the logistics of hosting so many more people, Yaku under extreme demand for white-resistant weapons, Moniwa aiding him in his forge, Akaashi trying to guide the Form the best he could, holding councils with the lesser members. He heard that multiple Osole soldiers had challenged Ushijima - apparently his reputation had spread farther than the Form, like Iwaizumi's. It was just larger. He suspected that Kenma had been dodging work, but he was sure Akaashi would be able to entrap him into doing something. 

Inhaling, Iwaizumi dropped a clump of earth into the bucket. 

He knew there was work left - Asahi would work on through the night to save these plants, but Iwaizumi had to do his part. He had to fight Osamu, had to know more about white.

"The-" Iwaizumi cleared his throat. "Where are the books Oikawa left?"

"Oh. That's why you're here," Asahi said, and Iwaizumi's stomach dropped. 

"No, that's not-"

"It's alright." Asahi smiled gently, and gestured over towards the murals. "You tend to get wrapped up in your missions. Luckily, the books weren't affected by the cave-in - I had a look through them. They're very comprehensive."

"Thanks."

"What do you want to know about?" Asahi asked, and Iwaizumi tried not to let the burning in his ears show. "I want to learn more about magickers - their powers and how they work, stuff like that. I've recently realised that I don't know shit, and if I want to defend them, I need to know more."

"Oh, are you going to try and change the verdict for those two poor magickers?" Asahi shivered. "They look scary. Especially the taller dark-haired one."

"They're not," Iwaizumi refuted him, brushing the dirt off of his hands. It stuck, mixing with the sweat on his palms, and he grimaced, wiping them down his trousers. "They may look intimidating, but they're idiots. They aren't capable of something like that."

"You know them?"

Iwaizumi's hand stilled, panic dancing through him. "They're Oikawa's friends. I met them briefly on the way here. One helped me get my body back."

The truth, hoping no more was asked of him, hoping that Asahi didn’t realise that the times aligned perfectly. 

"I see," Asahi said. His hazel eyes were bright, but he only rotated back around. "If I don't see you before I leave... " His back hunched over a little more, his fingers digging a little harder into the soil. "Well. I'll see you around, Iwaizumi."

Iwaizumi exhaled, staring at the pieces of hair sticking out of Asahi's bun. It reminded him of the edges of frayed fabric.

"I'll come and see you before you go," he found himself saying. "Tomorrow morning."

Asahi bowed his head in a nod, the muscles of his neck contracting outwards. "Thanks. Oh -" he lifted his head, gesturing towards the door. "Oikawa left his books near the first lot of plants."

Iwaizumi's tongue felt dry. He should say more. He should have more to say. But all he could do was mutter a "Thank you," before leaving. 

He found the bag easily, although it was crooked away in a corner. Anyone walking in would have to almost rotate their head a full ninety degrees to spot it. He dropped down, cross-legged beside the bag, and started shifting through them. 

_Split power - a study of the basic white types and derivations._

He put that aside. 

_History of Katachi. The ruling methods of the Westland lords. How the Northern Monarchy integrated democracy. Eurus - a land unknown. Rise up - a celebration of the rebellion against the deities. The Lady and her followers. The importance of white size - born or learned?_

Some of the books were stuffed with shorter pamphlets, much more up Iwaizumi's alley. 

_How to properly sacrifice to the Lady. A short history of Awero. How to identify a deity and their descendents. Methods to contain Fracturers._

After rifling through the rest a bit, Iwaizumi took the book on white and tucked it underneath his arm. He looked at the little leaflet on deities, and folded that carefully into his pocket too. The door handle clicked.

"Hey. Iwaizumi."

Iwaizumi glanced up. Atsumu was leaning against the doorway, shoulder pressed to the frame. His arms were crossed over his chest, firm and solid. Iwaizumi pushed down his initial hostile response. There was something different in Atsumu’s voice, something that begged, _“please hear me out.”_

"Yeah?"

The question came out harsher than he intended. 

Atsumu regarded him. "Yer not actually gonna fight 'samu, are ya?"

"Yeah."

"It's not gonna be a good outcome for ya. If I were you, I'd forget about it."

Iwaizumi crossed his arms over his chest. "Scared I'll be equal to you again?"

Atsumu almost looked offended. "No - Iwaizumi, you're -" he sighed, dropping his head. "Yer impossible, you know that? Can't you see I'm tryin' to help you? To stop you wasting both of your time? What's the point of infighting? That's what they want."

"I'm glad you think it's a waste of time," Iwaizumi said coolly. "So that's why you're really here."

"I give up. I fuckin' give up." Atsumu pointed at him. "Me and ‘Samu grew up kicking the shit out of each other. I know his strength. So when you get your ass beat, don't say I didn't warn ya." 

"Thanks. Any other useless advice?" Iwaizumi responded. 

Atsumu gave him a flat stare. "This better not take long."

"It won't."

"Great. Good fuckin' luck."

Atsumu spun around and stomped off. 

Sitting down at his desk, Iwaizumi flipped through the book. It had clearly been written by someone biased against magickers - which was likely the reason Torem had allowed it on Oikawa's shelves. His leg jittered under the desk, but he tried to ignore it - nerves would do him no good. He needed a distraction. 

Iwaizumi scanned through the pages, illustrated with brutally graphic depictions of magickers, eyes flaring white, cutting through screaming villagers, holding children up by their throats, even devouring a human arm. 

_Shifter: depending on the breed, can change itself or things around it as long as it is touching it. Highly dangerous. Kill with caution. If capturing, deprive of any and all items it could use to its advantage. Even binding is risky, as it can turn rope into a blade. If possible, dip hands, palms together, into melted metal and let solidify._

_Breather: A rarely seen breed of skut. It is unlikely that most live past twenty, as its white is viewed as a curse by many. It is unable to breathe when healing others and suffocates slowly, sometimes to death._

_If encountered, attempt to capture._

_Most have poor combat abilities and are easy to weaken, but a few know how to weaponise their Breath, making them extremely dangerous. Kill on sight if ability to fight is confirmed. Utilise fire, as its Breath is flammable and once ignited becomes harmless._

_Bricker: a relatively common skut. Can push at things around it, with varying degrees of range and strength, White-size dependent. Some may be able to push earth, others air, cotton, trees, etc. Some more than one type of thing. Approach with caution and determine its limits. To kill, move in close and move fast, disorientating it. It will be unable to keep up with its pushes._

_Fracturer: EXTREMELY dangerous at close range. Anything this skut touches collapses, therefore long-range weapons are advised when killing. If forced to fight in close quarters, wear layers. It will have to break through your clothing before touching your skin. Distract and disorientate to prevent it concentrating._

_Preserver: a morbid type of skut, the opposing force to fracturing. Often collects half-alive bodies for experiments and keeps them in a suspended state. It has very little offensive ability, but there are rumours that it can control the bodies it preserves. Little is known more than that. If possible, gather more information before executing._

_Memory manipulator: possibly the trickiest skut to identify. It has the power to alter memories, as long as it knows something about the person only it and the person does. DO NOT be in a room alone with it, as if it knows what it said and only you know it, it is able to erase, alter, and add memories. To what extent is still unknown, but there have been cases recorded of some people forgetting everything - their names, their face, their families._

_Skydropper: a derivation of a Bricker, able to push down the air in a certain radius around them. if identified, RUN. DO NOT get close._

Iwaizumi frowned, turning the page to see if there was more description. There wasn’t, only another set of entries. 

_Breathtaker: luckily, this skut is incredibly rare. It has the power to remove Breath from any living creature and take it as its own. While the foreign Breath is possessed, the skut heats up from the inside out, and some cases have been observed of the skut burning itself into ashes. If found, DO NOT attack alone. Unexpected ambushes of multiple people work best on it._

  
  


Iwaizumi exhaled, scanning down through the rest of the lines. There was more information, more magickers categorised into breeds like animals, but Iwaizumi had no time to dawdle. He ripped the page on Breathers out and folded it up, sticking it into his waistband. He couldn't delay any longer.

It was time to fight.

  
  


"Spar with me," Oikawa offered. He linked his hands together behind his back, looking down at Kae, her hand stilling on the paper she was reading. 

Oikawa craned his neck to read it. _...my deepest condolences to hear of Kunimi-sama's passing…_

He felt nothing. Kunimi was a snarky lord with an overblown ego. The worst part was, he had been smart enough to back it up. He briefly wondered if his son was as shrewd.

He refocused on Kae, hoping she would accept. Kindaichi was too young, and he didn't have the power Kae held. Oikawa didn't want to hold back - he needed to see his own limits to be able to adjust them accordingly. Then, maybe, he could spar with Kindaichi without fear of hurting him. 

It had been a long time since he’d fought with his Breath without holding back, while knowing that his opponent could defend themselves from his full strength. He needed to know if his limits had changed, and if his training was yielding actual usable results. With every passing day, his unease grew, not helped with every new report of Osole activity. He knew a direct confrontation was coming - it was only a question of when.

"Hm." Kae observed him, and Oikawa felt a little prickle at the back of his neck. Sighing deeply, she glanced down at her work, then pushed it aside. "I suppose a break would be good for both of us. I will use this to test your limits, as well." 

They headed out to the courtyard. It was late, and the sparring areas were empty, the last of the weapons being brought in from the stands. As soon as Kae appeared, the soldiers increased their pace, scuttering out of their way as quickly as possible. One tripped on the long shaft of a lance, slipped loose from the bundle in her arms. Kae breezed on past. 

"Kindaichi, help her," Oikawa murmured back to Kindaichi, watching as she attempted to gather all the spilled weapons on her knees, head lowered.

"Um - okay." 

As Kindaichi bent down to aid her, Oikawa kept up with Kae. 

"Oh, you showed up?"

Osamu's voice was lazy, almost apathetic. Anger ignited in Iwaizumi's stomach, and he lifted his chin. "I keep to my word, Osamu. As I expect you to do once I win."

Osamu waved a hand, eyes dull. "Yeah, course. The Osole will be yours to command. If you win."

Holding up a hand, his soldiers began to draw away from him, flattening around the edges of the training arena. As annoyed as Iwaizumi was, he couldn't deny that the move was cool. 

Wordlessly, a flail was placed into his hands, and Osamu held it out, the spiked ball at the end swinging lethargically back and forth. 

"You're allowed to back out now. It's not too late. Nobody here would think any less of you," he said mildly, but the gleam in his eyes told otherwise. Back out. Show them that you're a coward. Show them why you need our help. He tucked a dagger into his belt. 

Iwaizumi drew his sword. "Same to you. I'm sure your little murderous organisation won't mind if you just resign. It'll save me the trouble of humiliating you in front of them."

"Isn't resigning your thing?"

Rage inflamed Iwaizumi's lungs, and he almost lunged forwards on that taunt alone. If he had been a decade younger, he would have. As it stood, he simply narrowed his eyes, lowering into his trusted stance. 

"Not anymore."

Osamu surged forwards.

Kae faced Oikawa.

Oikawa inhaled, deep and slow. The evening air was musky, and he could smell the stinging of sweat from the soldiers here before them. He raised his forefinger, and sidestepped to Kindaichi, who was hovering by the edge of the sparring area. 

"Leave us," Oikawa ordered, and Kindaichi tilted his head. "Oikawa-sama?"

"Go take a piss or whatever," Oikawa told him. "I have Kae with me. I'll be fine for half an hour."

Kindaichi's eyes, overshadowed by the helmet and the sinking sun, ghosted across to Kae. She gave a nod, and Oikawa breathed out a sigh of relief. 

It was selfish, but he didn't want Kindaichi to fear him. 

As Kindaichi trotted off, Oikawa spun back around to Kae, who gave him a grim smile. 

"Ready? Do you want any weapons?"

In response, Oikawa slipped his daggers out into his palms. 

Iwaizumi’s breath felt like a blade jabbed down his throat, slicing up and down with every heave of his sweaty chest. 

Osamu circled him, his blank face almost mocking. "Is that it? No wonder ‘sumu asked us for help if this is what he's working with." 

He said it so calmly, so factually, that a spurt of anger ran through Iwaizumi's veins, fingers clenching around the sodden hilt. Osamu spun his dagger around on the tip of his finger, through the hole at the end of the hilt. His flail dragged on the ground, blood seeping down his arm, soaking into his sleeve. 

Swallowing down the taste of iron, Iwaizumi got to his feet and charged towards him again. 

Oikawa's Breath swirled around him. It threaded just shy of his clothes, twisting the length of his body like a protective tornado. It took a lot more concentration than simply solidifying it and sending it in a straight path, but he did it. He could do it.

Kae's rose to meet his, and he felt the satisfaction of a challenge bite into him. It wasn't often he got the chance to match his Breath with another Breather, someone capable of repelling his attacks. Hers wasn't translucent - like before, it took on the black guise of oil, swerving through the air almost erratically. It passed through Oikawa's mind how odd that was - like she had trouble controlling it, but he didn't have time to examine it further. 

The sensation of their Breaths clashing together was jarring - like a lurch in his lungs, something that usually didn't happen. It was a foreign feeling, and as he followed his Breath with his daggers, he embraced the burning in his lungs. He deflected a blow from her spear, and wrapped his Breath around his dagger, feeling it skim the edges of his skin. But it didn't cut into him as he moved, slashing fast and hard. His attacks connected with the gliding texture of the oily spear - sometimes he felt a pull, as if it was trying to snatch and absorb his daggers - but he never allowed the contact to last that long, for it to get a proper grip. 

Drawing back, he sucked in his Breath, allowing the tension in his chest to disperse, dodging past a stab with ease. He felt different. He saw movements clearly now - how her feet tilted with her weight, where she was going to strike next, how he knew she would spring forwards and -

Iwaizumi felt the metal connect with his shoulder, and pain exploded through him, bolting down his arm to his spasming fingertips. He gritted his teeth against a cry, and spun around, his blade flashing down towards Osamu's neck. Osamu ducked, Iwaizumi's body turning with the desperate motion, and his foot cracked against Iwaizumi's knee. Iwaizumi felt his leg, captured in a spam of blinding pain, buckle underneath him. He flung his weight back, aiming to re-establish his balance - and failed. 

He fell onto his side, Osamu's dagger at his neck. 

He lifted his chin, feeling the blade bite into his skin, daring him. Someone gave a little cheer, and Osamu's gaze twitched away from Iwaizumi. Only for a trok, but it was enough. Swiftly, he brought up his hand, knocking the blade from Osamu's fingers, and the tip sunk headfirst into the dirt. And as Iwaizumi sprung up, barrelling into him with all his strength, it reminded him of another sparring session. 

Iwaizumi thought of Oikawa.

Oikawa thought of Hajime. 

He thought of how he spun, how every shift betrayed his thoughts, how the muscles in his neck stretched as he swung up his blade. He thought of what he'd learned from him and his whole, entire chest ached.

Kae was good. But not as good as Hajime. 

His dagger sliced downwards, the Breath surrounding it cutting across her sleeve. No - not across. Into. Panic crawled through Oikawa's bones - how had he misjudged the distance? Had he been thinking of Hajime, distracted? Guilt shot through him. Unforgivable. 

She jerked backwards, crimson blurring on her arm. Her spear dissolved, splattering to the ground and then whirling back up into her mouth. Oikawa lifted his tongue to apologise, lowering his blade.

"Kae, I…"

His gaze was drawn to her wound. His attack had slashed down the side of her sleeve, through her cloak, through her shirt, all the way to the skin. The material around the damage fell away, and his apologetic words fastened into a noose, looping around his throat. Through the tear, her forearm was black, mottled with a spongy-looking plant. Oikawa almost lost his grip on his daggers. 

A dismally familiar plant.

"Get up."

Iwaizumi spat out a gob of blood. "Fuck off."

He didn't even see Osamu's knee. It crushed in his throat, Osamu's fingers gripping Iwaizumi's hair as Iwaizumi coughed, desperately trying to open up his windpipe again. He could only taste his thick, crimson spit, iron mucus clogging up his chest.

It felt like he was drowning in his own blood. 

Another cough shuddered through him, his shoulders snapping forwards with the motion, as if trying to shock his body into breathing again. A sliver of air snaked into his lungs, and he gasped, closing his eyes tightly, the pressure behind them growing unbearable. 

When was the last time he'd felt like this?

He could feel it. His white, aching to be freed, pounding in his veins, against his skin. Iwaizumi gulped down a breath.

"Anything to say?" Osamu dragged his head up. Iwaizumi felt the bones in the back of his neck click as he glared up at Osamu, the dirt stamping on his knees. 

"Lead your people better," Iwaizumi said, and Osamu stared at him a moment.

"You're being serious?" He shook his head. _"You're_ telling me to lead better? Hey, didn't you allow a whole village to be murdered because you couldn't let your poor little Ushijima be in the way of danger?"

Iwaizumi felt blood drain out of his nostrils, leaking down into his mouth as he inhaled. "That was a long time ago-"

"You want me to bring up your more recent failures? That seems a bit masochistic of you."

"'Samu."

Osamu's flat eyes focused behind Iwaizumi. "Hm?"

He let go of Iwaizumi's hair, and Iwaizumi's head plummeted to the ground, barely saving his face from slamming into the floor. Weakness ripped through him, and he stared at the ground, trying to steady the waves heaving through his head, the pulsing of his temples. His fingers splayed out over the floor. They were shaking, no matter how hard he forced them downwards, into the wet floor. Was it wet because of sweat or blood? He couldn't tell. 

"He's had enough, for fuck's sake."

Iwaizumi swallowed, a viscous blob of half-risen vomit and blood gliding down his throat as he concentrated. Keep it in. Keep his power in. A slip here could mean his trial, as well. He would be no use to Mattsun and Makki incarcerated. 

"You know that this is usually to death or until someone forfeits," Osamu said slowly, calmly. "Those are the rules."

"We need people. Fuck, that's why you were brought in in the first place. And now you're gonna kill one of our best fighters? Doesn't sound smart to me."

“He could always surrender.”

“He’s not going to. Hell, you’ve beaten him half to death. You think he’s gonna give in now?”

“I’ve seen people break further along than this.” 

Atsumu's next words were raised, firm. “‘Samu-“

Pain rammed into Iwaizumi’s side. He swore he could feel his ribs flexing under the force of Osamu’s foot. Groaning, he attempted to focus, get to his feet, bypass the hurt fracturing his concentration. He got one foot on the ground and almost pitched to the side, Osamu's "tch," barely piercing the fog around his mind. Focus. He couldn't lose.

He reached for his sword, curling his fingers around the wet, slippery hilt.

Oikawa stared at the tear in her clothes, trying to comprehend what he saw. She tried to catch the edges of her cloak, cover over her skin, but it was too late. Dropping her arm to her side, she exhaled hard. 

"Oikawa, you're likely wondering -"

"The moss," Oikawa realised, and his fingers pressed in on his temples. "How did I not realise sooner? You let it grow on you - you coming back from the dead, was that - how did you -"

Her lips were thin as she spoke. "Yes. The moss allows me to move through time, to a certain extent."

"You do the same thing Hajime did to get his body back," Oikawa breathed out. "You travel back into the loop to a time where you weren't dead - and then you step out again. That's it, isn't it?"

Kae regarded him, a crease forming in her brow, a sort of uneasy respect settling in her voice. "Yes… I had known you were smart, but…" She shook her head, a little smile on her lips. "I am glad that you're on my side." 

"Smart?" Oikawa repeated, memories snapping into place behind his eyes. He was the farthest thing from smart. 

It was hard to focus on the conversation - he should've figured it out sooner, the instant Iwaizumi managed to revive himself from the dead, when he noticed how heavily she dressed, the instant Iwaizumi called him over to look at the moss growing in the ferqol's flesh - but that didn't answer -

"How?" Oikawa asked, stepping forwards and grasping her arm, examining the deep pits of moss on either side of the wound he'd made. She bled red, like the rest of humanity. "How did you get it to grow on - in you? And how did you think of this in the first place? And why?" 

The questions flooded out of him before he was thinking of them, his fingers sinking into the dampness of her cloak, realising now that the sponginess wasn't the soft yielding of flesh, but fungus. Kae laughed, a brittle sound, and pulled back her arm. 

"Don't you think if I had the strength to take down a kingdom when I left Tobio, I would have? I needed more power. The deities offered to give it to me. I took their offer."

"Deities? Those assholes?" Oikawa's mind was speeding up, sprinting, tumbling. "What did they want in return? It's not like them to do such a charitable act. None of them are kind in any sense of the word, and to get permission from my - from the acting leader would be difficult. Was it a rogue deity that offered you this?"

"Yes. We didn't ask permission, in any case." She tilted her head. "They told me about you, actually. Do you speak to your father that disrespectfully?"

Oikawa felt his lips curl back, and from the look on Kae's face, she knew she'd stepped too far. 

"I do, actually. My father doesn't deserve an ounce of my respect," Oikawa said, jaw clenched. "Don't bring him up again."

Pursing her lips, Kae nodded slowly. "My apologies. Personal matters shouldn't be discussed between us."

His face felt like it had ice sliding down it, numbing his cheeks. He nodded back. "You know now. Say, though -" Oikawa coupled this with a cool smile, "How about telling me the story of how you overthrew a kingdom? I feel like a good story after all of that exercise, don't you?"

  
  


Iwaizumi stumbled to the ground for the last time. 

He tried to get up from his knees and realised he couldn't. His legs were shaking, arms vibrating fast and hard. 

"You rely too much on others," Osamu shook his head. "Because I'm nice, I'll give you some free advice. Build your own strength." 

Iwaizumi's fists clenched. The thin layer of dirt folded into his damp hands.

Ushijima would've been able to defeat him. 

He raised his head and looked up at Osamu. The one bit of satisfaction he got was the sight of bruises battered down the side of Osamu's face, the nicks on his armour, the sweat being drunk by his grey hair. He grinned, vision swimming. A droplet of Osamu’s blood dropped to the dirt. "You're a dickhead."

Osamu's expression didn't alter a bit, his square jaw staying set. "Yeah. And you're a creep for grinning at me after getting your ass beaten."

Welling up a gob of spit in the depths of his throat, Iwaizumi eyed Osamu's dirt-splattered boots, then swallowed it back down. He had been beaten, fairly. He wasn't going to lower himself to petty acts of vengeance.

He tried to get up and a flash of agony, as alive and powerful as an animal, coursed through his body from his shoulder, tightening Iwaizumi's throat and blurring black dots through his vision.

He could still see Osamu’s feet move away from him. 

"Fuck," he whispered, aware of his whole body trembling, all the pain mangling together into some sort of storm, ebbing and roaring with every pain-ridden breath. He'd failed. A part of him - a strong part - thought that he should be feeling more pain. 

He felt himself being lifted, and had to bite down on his tongue to stop from crying out. A dizziness darted through his head, and he blinked. He wasn't going to pass out. He could retain that much dignity, at least. 

"Stand up, would ya?"

Gritting his teeth, Iwaizumi gripped Atsumu's shoulder and managed to rise off of his knees, making it tentatively upright. 

Atsumu looped an arm around Iwaizumi's torso. "Told ya."

Iwaizumi didn't want to place too much weight on him, but he had no choice. He was spent. Faintly, he noticed people dispersing from the arena, the entertainment finished. 

"Why did you bother stepping in?" Iwaizumi exhaled. He hated how his voice was barely loud enough to be audible. His lungs ached with every breath. 

"Hm," Atsumu directed his stare away from him. "Y'know, it was true what I said, but also, my brother's a bigger asshole than you."

Iwaizumi let out a broken chuckle as he limped towards the exit. "You saved me to spite him?"

"What's wrong with that? Yer alive, right?"

"Nothing." Iwaizumi gave him a half-smile. The movement hurt. "Reminds me of something Oikawa would do."

"Bleh." Atsumu stuck out his tongue. "That's one way of making me regret saving you."

His gaze became unfocused as he lugged Iwaizumi down the corridor. "I know how hungry 'Samu can be. He can become cruel sometimes, and I didn't like that. That's why I joined here instead of following in his footsteps. I did warn ya.”

"Iwaizumi."

Iwaizumi closed his eyes, knowing what was coming. "Ushijima. What do you want?"

"That was foolish of you. What did you hope to achieve but discord?" 

His voice sounded closer, and Iwaizumi's hunch was confirmed when an additional arm rounded his back. It was truly pathetic - at this stage, he was practically being carried, and he despised it. He should be crawling back to Matsukawa and Hanamaki's cell. 

He turned his face away. "I don't expect you to understand. Leave it."

Ushijima fell silent, which Iwaizumi suspected might have been to do with some side-eying from Atsumu as well. Still, during the entire way to the infirmary - Yaku and Akaashi finding them along the way - Iwaizumi couldn't meet any of their eyes.

"It only took you eight months to recruit enough members to Aecus?"

A smile tugged at the edge of Kae's mouth. ''I convinced you to join me, did I not?” 

Oikawa couldn't argue with that. He leaned back, regarding Kae with new respect. "Still… impressive."

He hesitated, another question floating to the top of his mind. Hajime had mentioned meeting a deity in his memory, one he had to barter with to escape. 

"Is there a deity attached to the moss?” 

"Yes, but the deity doesn't live in the moss all the time," Kae said. "It's more like… his life force."

She held her breath, and pulled down the top of her shirt. Moss shimmered underneath her ear, black tendrils snaking out at the edges. “It grows. It hasn’t… reached my brain yet, but it will. I don’t have long left.”

Oikawa thought of when they first encountered each other, how her forearm had been bare at that stage. He glanced down at her cut sleeve again, at the invasion. “What happens when it reaches your brain?”

She looked at Oikawa, and her fear struck him through her gaze. “I don’t know. He won't tell me."

“Ah.”

“I need to have things sorted out as quickly as possible.” Kae’s voice was clipped, quick, urgent. “I mightn’t be around to look after Tobio much longer…” Her golden gaze lifted. “Handing over power to my trusted generals is easy. Trusting my son with someone, however…” 

“I recognise the difficulty,” Oikawa sympathised. As if he could relate at all. 

“Torem gave you and that warrior the responsibility of his welfare if anything happened, correct?” 

Oikawa couldn’t help a slight twist of his mouth. “Technically, yes. Haj - Iwaizumi was the one who actually took your son on the night of the revolt.”

“And you?”

Oikawa swallowed. “I escaped by myself.” 

He tried his best to repress the shame threading through the statement. It felt like poison-dipped wire twisting through his veins. Pasting over an expression of apathy, he directed his gaze over to the study window, feeling the night suck the last tendrils of warm light from his face. So that was what Iwaizumi saw when he glanced up at Oikawa. If he had at all. 

Kae flinched, and Oikawa heard the door behind them creak. He turned just in time to see Tendou hop out, leaving the door ajar behind him. Oikawa narrowed his eyes. It couldn't be a coincidence that him, a minor deity, was drifting around Kae. His abilities aligned with the moss too - although time was a fairly common ability for deities to have. 

"You look hungry," he said lightly, and Kae grimaced. "Maybe I am. You'll have to excuse me, Oikawa." 

Her hands fluttered up to her forehead. Drawing closer, Tendou bent over, examining her cut sleeve. "Oops. Looks like there's one less secret in this castle.” 

"If I am to do my job properly, I need to know about all of them," Oikawa stated stiffly, flicking away a stray piece of straw that had found its way onto his sleeve.

"Hm, do you really?" Tendou asked, and Kae sighed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "Come on Tendou. Let's go."

She began walking off, but Tendou stayed there just a few troks longer, observing Oikawa with fish-like eyes. If fish eyes had sharpened, knife-like focus glowing in their depths.

"It's cute, how worried you are over her," he teased, landing a light hand on Oikawa's shoulder and squeezing. 

Oikawa batted his hand away. "I'm not. She can handle herself."

Tendou's smile pulled wider. He waved, looping back to Kae's side. "Don't worry about Kae's secret, she'll be just fine! If I were you, I'd be more concerned about your other friends. But you don't have to take my advice!"

Oikawa's brow creased. "My other friends?"

Tendou looked thoughtful as they drifted away. "Ah, maybe I'm mistaken. But you do have friends, don't you?"

A suffocation ran through Oikawa's chest, lungs tangled in ropes. He clenched his jaw shut, battling his urge to lash out. "And this is why you don't have any."

Tendou winked. "Just like you. Soon, maybe."

Oikawa's fingers trembled by his sides. It was Tendou provoking him. It had to be. Matsukawa and Hanamaki were safe, they knew how to blend in with the deities. The Osole were here, they were - Oikawa's breath caught. He didn't particularly keep an eye on the Osole's movements, and now he was feeling an awful prickle of regret. When had he last heard of Eurus' state of affairs? Not much news emerged from the land, but when there was an upset, news - even late news - usually filtered in from the North eventually. 

Oikawa's teeth raked down the inside of his cheek. How could he get into contact with them?

He felt Tendou's unblinking gaze on him, and spun around. It didn't matter if Tendou was wrong or bluffing. Oikawa couldn't dismiss his claims easily anymore. How in the fuck did that _ikol_ even know about his friends? If anything happened to them, Oikawa was going to tear the whole Osole apart.

Maybe it was justice, for him not doing it long ago, when they were weaker and he held sway over the king. Maybe them taking his best friends from him was some sort of sick karma. He'd brought them to their door. 

He strode fast, the night wind piercing through his clothes, kneading his hands together restlessly. Tendou's words meant nothing. Tendou's words weren't reliable. 

Tendou's words were imprinted on his memory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to say but thank you for the support, I really really value it and it's the reason I get chapters written faster! I know this was a long one so if you're still reading, thank you! <3  
> A lot is happening, I know, but trust me. It'll all break down and build up better than before.


	17. Flux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [slaps top of skull] this bad boy can fit so much unused lore in here!

Iwaizumi woke up and almost cried out.

Things came rushing back, all at once. Iwaizumi curved forwards, pressing his face into his knees. His shoulder wept, teardrops of pain splaying out like knives down his arm, his back, his neck. Hanamaki's hopeless voice, telling him that the trial wouldn't be fair. The shake of Matsukawa's head as he was led away. The way the metal edges of the chains dug into Mattsun's skin, how the iron caging Hanamaki's hands left foreforms of blood patterned across their wrists. 

Osamu's flail, hurled low and fast, the scratch of the spikes against Iwaizumi's thigh. He reached out with his fingers, finding the tear in his trousers. His fingertip caught around it, twisting, twisting. He'd failed the Form, and now he'd failed them too. 

Iwaizumi pushed his face down harder on his knees, the pressure on his eyes almost welcome. Maybe if he put enough on them, he wouldn't cry. His hand clutched at his shoulder, as if the pain his fingernails brought, digging into the muscle, would distract him from the aching, the throbbing. 

It took him a while to gain awareness of his surroundings. He slowly gathered himself, wincing as he pulled on his shirt. Last night, he'd refused medical attention, even under Yaku's insistence. Maybe it was a self-inflicted punishment, maybe it was simple want to be alone. Either way, it was dawning on him that he was even more useless to Matsukawa and Hanamaki injured. His chest sunk in on itself, like a bogland had festered in his lungs overnight. He couldn't help anyone - not them, not Goshiki, not Oikawa. That was why he'd left, wasn't it? Because he knew that there was nothing for him here. Not justice, not hope, not Iwaizumi. 

He tightened the rope around his waist and headed to the medical room. 

Oikawa felt like Tendou had given him an itch he couldn’t possibly scratch. 

He had never worried about Matsukawa and Hanamaki before. They were more than capable of looking after themselves, keeping their chaos under control enough for them to slip by the attention of any major threats. 

But Oikawa himself had brought a mob to their door, he himself killed someone, left a body that they would be connected to, not to mention the disaster left by Iwaizumi's lack of control. He had a horrible feeling about the outcome. 

"Oikawa-sama?"

Oikawa blinked, realising that he'd bent the quill he was holding almost in half. 

"Whoops," he said lightly, setting the ruined tool down next to his notebook. He spun around, facing Kindaichi. "What is it?"

"I think Sugawara-san's delegates are here."

"Already?" Oikawa rose from his desk, whisking around Kindaichi to the door. "There should've been a proper welcome for them at the gate. We don't want to get off on a bad footing with them already, considering how tentative our arrangement is with our beloved Suga."

Kindaichi made a face, and Oikawa laughed. "Not fond of him?"

"He's really nice, but…." Kindaichi shuffled, shrugging. "You never know what he's going to do or say. I feel like I'm walking into a trap every time I talk to him."

Oikawa raised an eyebrow as they made their way into the corridor. "You're right to feel that way. He is a memory alterer, after all. Don't talk to him alone, okay?" 

"Uh…"

Oikawa sighed, winding past another guard with a muted nod. "You've already talked to him alone."

"It wasn't my fault," Kindaichi protested, nervously sliding his hand up and down the handle of his spear. "He just pulled me aside and gave me a few tips about shining my armour. They were really useful actually."

Suspicion flowed through Oikawa, and he tried to see what Suga could possibly gain from manipulating Kindaichi. Had he done that with others too? He'd have to run over important things with Kindaichi later to ensure that their dear Sugawara hadn't done any meddling. 

His path of thought was disrupted when he noticed Kae push open the door ahead of them, blinking over at him. Now that Oikawa knew what to look for, he noticed the slight wetness of her shirt collar, evidence of the damp moss breathing, pulsing and living in her flesh. It made his skin break out in goosebumps.

"Oh, Oikawa. I see you've heard." 

Oikawa inclined his head. "You didn't expect them this early either, did you?"

"No. But I assume that Sugawara sent for someone who could ride fast. Let’s go down and meet them, shall we?” 

  
  


"Make sure to rest it," Kita told him, and Iwaizumi nodded, his attention focused on the boy with a bad haircut lying on the bed behind him. 

"You're not listening to me, are you?"

Kita's face filled Iwaizumi's entire field of view suddenly, and Iwaizumi jerked backwards on instinct, the movement sending a pang through his shoulder. 

"Um - you told me to rest it," he said, and Kita stared at him a trok longer. 

"You can't do anything for him," he said, and Iwaizumi's jaw tensed. "I know. I don't need a reminder."

"Then why are you staring at him as if watching him will make him wake up?"

Iwaizumi glanced at Goshiki again, chewing on his lower lip. After a moment, he dropped his head, linking his hands through each other in his lap. "Just tell me what I need to do and I'll go." 

He was uncertain at first, accepting help from Kita. But he'd only secured Iwaizumi's shoulder swiftly and efficiently, with a confidence of someone who had done the same thing many times before. The press of his fingers were hard, but not uncaring. It was as if he knew the right pressure and wouldn't hold back on the treatment, even if it hurt. Their regular medical person was tending to Goshiki, checking up on his condition and his arm in case of infection. Well, his upper arm. 

Lifting his arm to rotate his shoulder gently, Iwaizumi hissed out a breath. He was lucky that it had been his left shoulder and not his right, but still. It would affect his sparring ability, as well as being able to heft a shield, but not massively affect his sword handling. He could handle a sharp stab of pain every now and then. 

"You did a number on Osamu too," Kita stated. "I'm glad Atsumu stepped in and stopped it. It would've been stupid to kill you and be one strong warrior down, as well as Osamu injured further."

"Thanks?" Iwaizumi replied, trying to judge Kita's expression to see if he was supposed to take that as a compliment or not. 

Kita only nodded, stepping back from the bed. "Be sure to do the exercises I showed you, otherwise it'll seize up. But don't overextend it."

"Alright." 

Iwaizumi slipped down from the bed. 

  
  


Once back in his room, Iwaizumi fished out the pamphlet on deities, clearly printed in a very low-end press, the letters wonky, almost rushed, slanting into each other. Frowning, he opened it, recognising Oikawa's handwriting, neatly annotating almost all of the paragraphs. He skimmed through the introduction - written by someone able to blend in with the deities enough so they didn't suspect them - and flipped to the section of identification. 

_Perhaps the most telling thing about deities is their certain smell. This varies for each one, but usually their scent, once close to them, is impossible not to notice. Often, the scent depicts their mood, becoming bitter to inhale if the deity is annoyed, and sweeter if it is in a good mood._

_-_ and then an arrow, leading out to the side comment of _[half true. Sometimes they smell like air, because they're tricky bastards. They should all smell like rotting shit.]_

Despite himself, Iwaizumi snorted. He could hear Oikawa's voice in his head, bitter and yet somehow lighthearted, said as a joke. 

_Each one has unique abilities, although some families have ones that repeat._

_[and those families have sticks shoved up their arses]_

_Deities have a fluctuating power structure, and it hasn't been stable since Eurus lost its hold on the humans._

_[the easiest way to identify a deity is to ask them if they’re a deity. they’re so full of themselves that they’ll say yes.]_

Iwaizumi ended up reading a lot more than he'd intended to. Oikawa's additions were acute, clear and witty - he wondered perhaps if Oikawa had planned on amending this and writing his own version. 

He closed the pamphlet with a difficult, dragging breath. It wasn't due to his wound, he knew that much for sure. Glancing down at his hands, he ran a finger over the front of the pamphlet, thinking of how Oikawa had handled it before, how he missed the grip of his fingers, how loose and full his chest felt when he remembered Oikawa kissing his hand. 

He'd promised. This or the next life. 

The pamphlet title grew blurry, the black edges of ink diffusing outwards, wobbling. Iwaizumi blinked, and a tear splattered onto the paper. He stared down at the droplet for a moment, quivering in the air, and wiped it off with his thumb, thinking he didn't want it to be in the next life. 

The ink smudged. 

The hall yawned above them. 

Sugawara had come in the warriors' entrance - apparently the new people had already come in the main gate, the one usually reserved for nobles and lords. Oikawa recalled the great oak doors, overplayed with tangles of shining wire, faces of past monarchies twirled into the design. It had almost flattened him the first time he'd seen them, a year into his time at the castle - he'd always been escorted through the side entrances. It took two guards to open each door, using the tedious mechanisms at either side. Oikawa remembered that once a guard's arm had been crushed by the chain coiling around the massive wheel, his cries for the opening to stop deafened by the groan of the doors, like the insatiable roar of a beast. 

To come in through those, someone clearly had a high opinion of themselves, or were ignorant and didn't know any better. 

Knowing Flightless, Oikawa thought wryly, it was probably the latter. 

"Kae-sama! We have an issue."

The rough, chilling voice came from one of Kae's generals. Oikawa recognised it instantly as they turned, noting his drawn, grave face. 

"What is it?" Kae asked, clicking her tongue. "Now really isn't a good time for an issue."

He rubbed his stubble-lined chin with the back of his fingers. "Unfortunately, I can't time issues to occur when they suit you. One of the Awero bandit leaders is demanding to see you, and if she doesn't within the next ten minutes, she's going to set fire to the stables."

Kae closed her eyes and sighed. "Saeko, right?"

"Right."

"Oikawa, you can handle this, can't you?" Kae inquired, and Oikawa gave a little smile. "Kae, I've been dealing with tight-lipped lords for a decade. I think I can handle one bandit villager. In fact, I think I can dazzle them, and before I leave the room they'll be licking my shoes."

"Alright, no need to go that far. Just make sure they know I'm coming as soon as this whole deal is done with, okay?"

"Of course."

As he pushed open the double doors into the parlour, Oikawa felt his lips twitch upwards. It was exactly who he expected. This should be fun. The door handles clanged against the wall as he strode through, tailed by Kindaichi. 

They turned. 

"Oh - it's you. You cut your hair."

And then -

"Oh _fuck_ , it's you."

"It's me," Oikawa answered, placing his hands on his hips. "Are you really that surprised? I'm always involved in the important, kingdom-changing decisions."

"Like a dung fly."

"Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

Kuroo was leaning back on the wall beside the doorway, looking at Oikawa with his flat-lidded eye. He didn't even attempt to hide his utter contempt, glancing away from him with the clear intention to ignore Oikawa from here on out. Oikawa took a moment to examine him, the coarse horse hairs flecked on the inside of his wrapped lower legs, the delay in his blinks, the grey captured in the hollows of his eye, the distinctive smell emanating from him. He looked and smelled like a man who had done everything to cross distance as fast as humanly possible. 

"Where's Kae?"

"Oh, she'll be along in a bit," Oikawa said airily, waving a hand, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tendou slip out the door he'd just passed out of. 

Kuroo's face didn't move. "She couldn't make it, and you could?" 

Grinning widely at him, Oikawa slunk over to him, slapping him on the back. "Oh Roo-chan, I'm here to ensure you make yourself right at home. It's so great to see you again! Come, join us for some food! Aren't you hungry after all of that travelling?"

"I'm going to kill myself," Kuroo said. "I had hoped Suga was joking about your presence. In the morbid way he makes jokes. But no. I have to suffer."

"Ah, so unkind, so cruel," Tendou popped up. "Won't you at least taste our cherries beforehand? They’re truly delicious this time of year.”

“Who the fuck are you?"Kuroo deadpanned. "It's winter."

"It's almost spring!" Tendou protested, and to illustrate his point, he snapped his fingers, a cloud of red dust shooting up into the air. 

Kuroo observed the cloud drift downwards warily, watching as it spiralled out into branches, flowers blooming, and right before it hit the floor, dark cherries that split apart on the carpet. Something about the motion, about the twisting, unnatural forms of the particles made Oikawa want to squirm, backstep. The image of the cherries ripening only to burst open gave him shivers. 

"Thanks," Kuroo responded wryly. He appeared unaffected, but Oikawa was sure that he came across that way too. Leaning a hand on his hip, he leered to the side, around Tendou. "Where's Suga?"

"Could be anywhere," Oikawa answered. "You weren't supposed to arrive for another good few days, after all. I expected more time of peace."

Vague irritation marred Kuroo's expression, but then footsteps sounded behind Oikawa, and his attention was brought away. Kuroo's lips quirked upwards in a grin. 

"Ah, there he is. Knew speaking of him would summon him."

"Kuroo, I told you not to use your stored energy to travel here," Suga chided, stepping through Oikawa and Tendou. "You might need it for a more urgent occasion." 

“Flightless needs you, Suga," Kuroo pushed. "There are bandits coming further and further up, unchecked by anyone. We have to have leadership -"

"Oikawa-san!"

It took Oikawa a moment to source the familiar voice, but once he did, he broke out into a smile, easily identifying the cloudy-haired young man who had swung out of the doorway behind Kuroo. His face was a little more freckled, and his hair hanging a little lower across his brow, but he was much the same as Oikawa had left him - an eager, determined lad with a bright smile. 

"Yahaba! What are you -"

"Oh," Tendou said softly, so softly Oikawa thought he'd imagined it. "His name is Yahaba." 

Oikawa’s delight was cut by the somber tone of Tendou’s voice, a tone he didn’t think Tendou was capable of. 

"Suga mentioned in his message that you were here, and he wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to bring him," Kuroo said flatly. "Gods know why he wanted to see you so badly, but here he is. Enjoy." 

Reaching back, he grabbed Yahaba's shirt and pulled him forwards. With a cry of protest, Yahaba stumbled to a stop right before reaching Oikawa's feet. His glance up was still full of barely contained ferver, Oikawa's bow was slung through his arm, hoisted onto his shoulder. It was strung, which struck Oikawa as odd. 

"You can teach me thoroughly now," Yahaba declared, straightening fully. It had to be Oikawa's imagination that he was taller - he couldn't have grown in that amount of time. 

“Hm?” Oikawa tilted his head to the side, making sure to sharpen his gaze enough to cut crystal. "Aren't you being a little too presumptuous? That's if I decide to take you back on in the first place."

"You will," Yahaba told him, and Oikawa's initial irritation was overwhelmed by a sense of pride. 

"What was that?" he said, cupping his ear, leaning his other hand on his hip. "I thought I just heard you cut across me in an act of disrespect. That couldn't have happened, right?" 

Yahaba had the grace to colour a little. Beside them, Oikawa was aware of Suga and Kuroo embracing, discussing in lowered voices, Suga's fist clenching shut, Kuroo's gentle hand on his upper arm.

"Who're you?" Kindaichi asked, stepping up beside Oikawa. 

"He didn't mention me?" Yahaba asked, glancing over at Oikawa, who shrugged in response, spreading his hands. "Try to be more interesting, Yahaba-kun."

Yahaba shot Kindaichi an irritated look. "You'll know who I am by the end of the day. I'm Oikawa-san's greatest apprentice."

"Didn't he only have, like, five?" Kindaichi questioned, and Yahaba looked like he was choking a little. "Well - I'm going to be the best of those five!"

"Truly, an admirable goal," Oikawa snickered, and watched with amusement as Yahaba fought to keep a neutral expression. 

This was going to be fun. 

He smiled, outstretching his arms. “It’s good to see you again, Yahaba-kun.” 

Stepping forwards, Yahaba hugged him back, his lean body warm under his clothing. “It’s good to see you too, Oikawa-san.” 

Oikawa smiled to himself, squeezing Yahaba for a moment before letting go. He stank of damp horse.

“Oh!” Yahaba widened his eyes, grabbing Oikawa’s sleeve. “I have to show you something!” 

“What?” Kindaichi asked suspiciously, and Yahaba stuck out his tongue at him. “Something cool. Don’t be so jealous, just because you’ve realised you’re not Oikawa-san’s favourite junior.” 

Oikawa snorted before he could help himself. “Enough, Yahaba. Show me what you want to show me.”

He aimed a glance over his shoulder, but the rest were engaged in deep conversation, and he judged that it was okay for him to be dragged off by Yahaba. Kae would be back soon, he was sure. He could spare a few minutes for Yahaba.

“So, what’s this amazing, breathtaking thing you have for me? Is it the statue of me? You really shouldn’t have!” 

“Not quite…” Yahaba veered around a corner, then stopped, swivelling his head from side to side. “Uh, what was the way to the courtyard again?” 

Oikawa gestured to the right corridor. “This way.”

“This place is too big,” Yahaba grumbled as he pattered ahead of Oikawa. “I would’ve designed it so it’s easier to get out of.”

“It’s easy if you know the way, which, I’m sure you will soon. It’ll be part of your training - I’ll dump you in a random corner and see if you get out before you starve to death,” Oikawa responded cheerfully. 

“That doesn’t sound like it’ll teach me anything.” And then, in an undertone, “except what a dickhead my mentor is.”

“What was that?” 

“Aha, we’re almost there, aren’t we, Oikawa-san?” Yahaba placed his palm flat against the back of the door, and horror ran through Oikawa.

He snatched Yahaba’s hand before he could open the door, examining the back of it, the torn skin, the straight slashes over red, raw scratches. Turning it over, he saw that some extended all the length of Yahaba’s palm, cutting his heart line into pieces, his life line halved.

“You’ve been -“

“Isn’t that how you train?”

“Yes, but-!” Oikawa shook his head, trying to find words. “I don’t want you doing the same thing. I trained like this because I knew no other way, because I didn’t have a teacher. There’s no reason for you to go through the same thing. I showed you other methods just as effective-“

“It’s okay,” Yahaba said, a soft smile overcoming his features. “I want to improve, and I have, thanks to you. That’s what I want to show you-“

He took back his hand, pushing open the door to the courtyard. Oikawa’s bow shifted over and back along his spine as he moved, winding through the various clumps of soldiers. Pushing down his concern for now - until later, Yahaba wasn't getting away with injuring himself like that - Oikawa's gaze darted back and forth, familiarising himself with the new setup - to their right, a man was shouting instructions.

"STRIKE FAST! STRIKE HARD! DO NOT GIVE THEM TIME TO RETALIATE!"

Oikawa winced as they passed by his back, a hand fluttering up to cover his ear. Iwaizumi's teachings had been much more… tolerable. As if he was yelling, but out of care. Yahaba seemed sure of where he was going - they must've arrived through here, same as Oikawa had led Sugawara. To their left, sparring practice was taking place, with men slouched around the corners, jeering and jabbing at the pairs. Lining the whole area were living blocks, the ends being expanded on, bricks being handed upwards and mud-sand mixture being slopped along the surfaces. Oikawa searched for any sign of the stables on fire, and found none. 

Still, Yahaba forged on, and the thickness of the bodies thinned out gradually. 

"I was under the impression that I wouldn't have to walk far," Oikawa called out, and Yahaba aimed a sadistic grin over his shoulder - a grin that Oikawa suspected wasn't too far removed from his own one. He felt a prickle of pride, then reminded himself that that wasn't something he should be proud of passing on. 

"Just a little longer!" Yahaba reassured him. 

He slipped out the side door, the shadow of the walls casting shivers down Oikawa's back, but before long they were through, the evening sun strong enough to warm Oikawa's face. Taking a sharp left, Yahaba bounded over to where archers were practising, out in the open, away from the others in a confined space. 

He had his bow whipped out before he even skittered to a stop, drawing the string back. Oikawa blinked as the string grew taut, nothing notched between Yahaba's spread fingertips. And then he sensed it - a well of power. 

Yahaba's one open eye was trained ahead at the target, his hand just brushing his chin, mouth open slightly. A trickle of wind ruffled through his hair. As the string cut into his hardened skin, he whispered underneath his breath.

_"Volant."_

He let go. Oikawa saw a shimmer hurtle past, heard a thud, and gazed over at the target. A hole, larger than the typical arrowtip, was punched out in the middle of the sign. Wonder rippled through him, his mind ticking over.

"Well?" Yahaba spun around to him, a grin glowing over his face. "What do you think? It was worth it, wasn't it?"

"You used your Breath as an arrow?"

Yahaba nodded, still smug. "Oikawa-san, do you remember when you told me that I'd eventually run out of arrows? That's what gave me the idea!"

He flicked his fringe out of his eyes, a little smirk curling up his lips, and Oikawa felt a certain fondness float into his chest. It was a nice feeling, one he hadn't felt for a while. Tilting his head back, he narrowed his eyes. 

"Now, how did you figure that out?" Oikawa asked, allowing himself to clap slowly. "Who was the mastermind behind this? Because I know you, Yahaba-kun, and you're a lot of things, but creative isn't one of them."

Yahaba flushed. "I - I was with Kyoutani, complaining about you - I mean, how I couldn't shift arrows any quicker, and he said, 'why don't you just use your Breath? You can make it solid now, can't you?'" Yahaba pursed his lips. "It took a bit of practice, but it works."

Oikawa laughed lightly. "You worry too much." He poked Yahaba's forehead. "I'm glad there's someone next to you that stops you from overthinking to death. Tunnel vision on one thing isn't good."

"I'm well aware, Oikawa-san, it just… is easier said than done."

"Speaking of that cute little mutt, why didn't he come here with you?" Oikawa inquired. 

Yahaba shrugged, bending his bowshaft with his knee and loosening the string. "There was no reason for him to, apart from me. Iwaizumi-san wasn't here, so he wanted to improve his fighting with Tanaka instead."

"Oh, I see. I wasn't worth the journey?" Oikawa shook his head, sniffing. "He'll regret that."

Yahaba squinted at him, pulling his bow over his head. The shaft settled between his shoulder blades. "That sounds like a threat."

Turning back to the castle, Oikawa shrugged, putting up his hands. "Only if you think it is, Yahaba dearest. Keep an eye out for your boyfriend, okay? In the meantime, I'll show you to my study, how does that sound? I'll teach you how to train to control your Breath properly without stupidly damaging yourself."

Yahaba looked like he was holding in a pout, but nodded. 

"Oh, and one more thing," Oikawa said, glancing down at Yahaba's hands. "Open your mouth."

The sourness on Yahaba's face broke through, and Oikawa sighed. "I know they'll heal on their own, but take advantage of having someone as fantastically skilled as me around for once, would you? Then you can go off and bleed away happily with your pride intact. But not when you're with me."

"I got it, I got it," Yahaba said, his eyes flickering back in a way that was dangerously close to a roll. "There's no need for a lecture."

Oikawa grinned. "Didn’t you miss me?”

Yahaba silently opened his mouth. 

Oikawa shuffled through the book spread out in front of him, searching. There had to be something - any record of Kae’s condition, some other hint or sighting of the moss growing on living flesh. Maybe he could find a way to slow its growth, to contain it somehow. 

Give up the secret, he willed it. 

He heard Yahaba shuffle behind him, likely curling up in the chair he'd shifted for himself. It was a large one, cushioned with a fabric Oikawa only recalled the North being able to make, soft and yielding under the touch. Oikawa, in his straight-backed wooden one, was endlessly jealous. 

Still, it was kind of nice to have some company. 

“By the way, how did you get here so quickly?” Oikawa asked, gaze flickering through paragraphs. “The messenger took a week. It’s been three days.”

“Kuroo-san stored some power in the iron horseshoes,” Yahaba told Oikawa. “I guess it helped their energy go further, so we didn’t need to rest as often.” Oikawa heard him sigh. "We only slept every two days. And then he made fun of me for falling off my mount. He's almost as bad as you."

Oikawa squinted down at the passage in the book, almost missing what Yahaba said, but it was nothing. He had hoped that it might lead into accounts of deity moss living on someone, but it only covered ordinary possession. Which was often short-lived, messy, and involved a lot of vomit. 

“Hm." Oikawa leaned his cheek against his palm, half-sunk into other thoughts. "Iron, huh?”

Yahaba's reply was swift. “He can also store power in his blood, and he gets really strong when he's like that, too." 

"Wasn't he lucky with his ability?" Oikawa commented. "Some Storers can be stuck with some really useless objects. I once knew someone who could store their power in fish. They smelled all the time, and the power inside made the fish rot even faster." 

Yahaba snorted. "Glad I'm not one of them. How did they even figure that out in the first place?"

"Don't ask." Slipping his finger underneath the next page, Oikawa held up his other hand. "Shouldn't you be studying?"

"You're the one who started the conversation -"

"And I'm the one who's ending it."

He could almost see Yahaba's scowl as silence filtered back into the room, throwing up dust as it entered. He definitely heard his little 'tch,' though, and he smiled to himself. Continuing to scan through the book, he made it about two-thirds of the way through before realising that it wouldn't be helpful at all, not unless it randomly appeared under an unrelated topic. 

Sighing, Oikawa leaned forwards, out his window, watching the training ground. It was different now, populated with magickers teaching other magickers, rather than the ordinary humans Iwaizumi used to drill movements into. It certainly was a different sight - Brickers flinging themselves up to the height of the surrounding walls, assorted types of nonsense animals pouncing around, occasional puffs of dust clouding the air, usually coupled with someone's annoyed groaning, and random bursts of energy spotted all over the courtyard. Brickers collided in midair and sent each other flying in opposite directions. Oikawa felt his lips quirk upwards. 

This is how it should be, he thought to himself. 

A tremour slammed into his desk, and Oikawa felt all the hairs on his arms stand up, an immense pressure burrowing down into his skin. He tried to stand and realised he couldn't, the force keeping him in place too heavy to push back against. Parting his lips, he sucked in a struggling breath, the air feeling thick, cumbersome in his lungs. 

He’d experienced this once before, in the North, but never with such force. 

Abruptly, it released him, and he heard Yahaba suck in a deep breath behind him. 

What in the gods' names was that?

Oikawa stood up, giving himself a better view, and felt his mouth hang open. Standing in the middle of the courtyard was a man with all-white hair, the patch running down the right side of his neck all the way to his wrist. Was it even possible to have white that large? A light sword dangled around his waist, connected to the belts tightly binding his torso. Above, a grey shirt with loose sleeves, the seams laced together with string, did almost nothing to hide his bulky upper body. 

“HEY HEY HEY! HOW WAS THAT?!”

Oikawa was certain that if he was standing near him, he would’ve flinched away. As it was, he could hear him bellow with impressive clarity, seeing as before, he only heard the occasional, indistinct yell of Iwaizumi disciplining his squad. He blinked, focusing more. There was no way - white that big had to be a one-in-a-million shot, a combination of two already incredibly powerful people, somehow kept from being revealed to the ordinary people. Every time someone with white had a kid with someone ordinary, the white got weaker, more diluted. How in _baratrum_ did two people manage to produce...that?

But there that man was, standing with his hand raised in the air, and the affected clambering back to their feet around him. They looked worn, and Oikawa couldn't blame them.

Whether Oikawa believed it or not, it was reality. 

Oikawa selected a book and flipped through it, eyes resting on one term. Skydropper. 

_A Skydropper is a Bricker who can push air downwards, leaving a vacuum above that puts heavy strain on their body. Yet, if trained enough, they can withstand the backlog of pressure, and crush everything in a certain radius, depending on white-size._

“Terrifying,” Oikawa muttered. As opposed to Iwaizumi's ability to create wind, pushing air to the side, downwards was a whole different threat.

He tapped his finger on the page. The breeding programmes up North… 

"Yahaba," he called out, leaning back in his chair. "Who was that?"

"Oh, that's Bokuto," Yahaba told him, glancing up from his book. He seemed largely unfazed by the whole event - which, supposing that Yahaba probably spent a year or two living around him, made sense.

"The Bokuto that Kae sent for?"

Yahaba nodded, a grim expression on his face. "He's the strongest magicker I've ever seen, you and Iwaizumi-san included. It's very weird for white to be that prominent here."

"Is he from the North?" Oikawa asked, casting his mind back to the time he spent there. 

"I'm not sure, but if anyone knows, it would be Akaashi," Yahaba told him, then grimaced. "Well… you can't really ask him now, though." 

Sighing, Oikawa carded a hand back through his hair. "Tragically not. Maybe I’ll try Kuroo later, if I can stand his presence for that long. How does it feel, Yahaba-kun, to be on different sides to your friends?"

Yahaba's mouth twisted up. "I mean, the Form weren't really friendly to us…" 

"That doesn't surprise me." Oikawa exhaled. "But when I was up North -"

Yahaba raised his eyebrows. "You lived in the North? How did you get in?"

"Breathers are always in demand," Oikawa explained with a knowing smile. "I went up to escape this utter mess of a country, and I was assigned by their government to help the pain of people with chronic illnesses, anything that regular medicine couldn't handle."

Yahaba's brow creased. "That sounds… depressing."

Oikawa looked sharply over at him, smile faltering, and Yahaba flinched. "I mean - I didn't mean…"

"Don't reduce them down to one trait," Oikawa said, fighting to keep his voice even. "They were some of the best people I've ever met. Don't assume that the work was depressing because they knew they were going to die - we all know that." 

The memory of a blisteringly bright smile, an inescapable upbeat attitude, fun above all else sent warmth down his throat. 

_Terushima._

Yahaba lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry." 

"It's okay," Oikawa told him. "But think your words through next time."

"I will." Yahaba's mouth was set hard, and Oikawa turned his gaze away, tracing the outline of the window. He thought of a shaking hand against bedsheets, a time when fun couldn't be had. 

"I fell in love there, but after his passing, I just couldn't stay there anymore. Not in the city, anyway, and I wasn't going to join a tribe like your feral boyfriend."

A cloud passed over Yahaba's features. "He's not feral-"

Oikawa laughed, suddenly having an urge to lean over and pinch Yahaba's cheeks. "There's that cute little temper I missed. And to think, I thought you had calmed down a bit since we parted ways. But back to my story, I heard rumours of the Northern government paying strong magickers to reproduce with others. For what purpose, it was never specified, but it's easy enough to guess at. That's the only way I can think of how someone like Bokuto could've been possible." 

"But the North hasn't been in any wars for decades. Don't they mostly keep to themselves?"

Oikawa turned his flat eyes to him. "They're a lot more advanced than Katachi. Expansion could be their way of 'sharing their wealth with the rest of the world' or some bullshit justification. Well, that's what I would do." 

"Mm. Your dictator-like tendencies are probably right," Yahaba said, and Oikawa snorted before he could stop himself. "My dear Yahaba-kun, I have no such tendencies. I'm hurt by your low opinion of me."

Returning to his book, Yahaba only hummed out his offhand response. "Sure, Oikawa-san." 

Oikawa shuffled through his notes, rereading through his unfinished ones about the North, Mattsun's memoirs about the land of deities to the East, the power structures of the different Westland Lords, and the Form. He couldn't add anything, his quill tip tapping impatiently against the pages, leaving little dots of ink. It wasn’t that he knew nothing - he simply couldn’t concentrate enough to grasp sentences out of it. 

"Yahaba," Oikawa mentioned. "This is the only time I'll ever ask you for advice, so relish the opportunity, okay?" 

“Okay….”

“And you’re to forget I said anything the moment this conversation is over.”

“Is this - are you coming to me for relationship advice?” Yahaba couldn’t fully cover over the smugness in his tone. “You are, aren’t you?” 

Oikawa’s quill stilled. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s none of your business since it’s totally hypothetical.” 

“This is about Iwaizumi-san, isn’t it?”

“As I said already, it’s none of your business who this completely hypothetical situation is about,” Oikawa snapped out. “Are you going to let me ask my question or not?”

“Sure.”

Oikawa pursed up his lips, trying to think of how to best phrase it, while letting Yahaba know as little as possible about his personal affairs, of course. Sighing, Oikwa placed his quill back into the inkwell and spun around to face Yahaba, who didn't wipe the smirk off of his face quite fast enough for Oikawa to miss it. 

“If -," he began, then sighed again. Even that singular word felt like he'd mistepped already. "If you knew something would likely have a bad outcome, but you wanted to do it- like really, really wanted to take the risk but you were afraid - afraid of history repeating itself, would you?” 

Yahaba raised his eyebrows. "That's vague. Maybe if you clarified a little more about why you don't want to date Iwaizumi-san - ah, sorry, do this thing that might have a bad outcome - I could give better advice."

"I… I have reasons," Oikawa said slowly, trying to shake Daichi's words from his mind. 

_There are always reasons. There are always obstacles._

"Reasons I don't want to get into," Oikawa continued, feeling Yahaba's curiosity spark in the air. "But - there's a high chance that… people die around me," he said helplessly. "I can't explain it any better than that. I don't know if it's a curse from my accursed father or just my luck but that's the gist of it. And Hajime - he has his own stuff to work through, as unbelievable as that sounds for a man with more muscles than brain cells. I don't know if it'll work."

Oikawa closed his eyes. "I just don't know if I can put myself through this again."

"Will you be happy?"

"Mm?" Opening his eyes, Oikawa realised that Yahaba had sought out his gaze, staring at him. 

"Do you think you'll be happy with him?"

Oikawa didn't even need to think of his answer. "Yes."

“Then take the risk," Yahaba said softly. "You really think I managed to get with Kentaro without taking a risk? I didn't know if he was going to kiss me or punch me in response to me flirting with him, but it paid off. And we take a risk every time we Breathe.”

“That’s different.” Oikawa’s fingers drummed against his knee. “I'm only risking my own life there.” 

"I think you're risking more than that. You're risking Matsukawa-san and Hanamaki-senpai losing their best friend. You're risking Iwaizumi-san losing his…" Yahaba waved a hand in the air. "Whatever you two are. And…" he paused. "You're risking me losing my mentor. It's not just your 'own life' when you're involved in so many others’. My point is, you already risk the destruction of bonds every time you heal someone, try and do a good thing. This isn't any different. You have to take a risk for happiness."

Oikawa felt his nose crease up. "Since when did you get so wise?"

"Since you became a coward."

Oikawa glared at Yahaba sharply, letting his silence speak for him. Tilting his chin up, Yahaba held his glower. Annoyingly enough, Oikawa found himself unable to deny the accusation. 

Closing his arms over his chest, he threw his head back, feeling his fringe flicker across his forehead. He settled for an offended, "Hmph." 

“Plus," Yahaba added on, nose wrinkling up, "You're getting kind of old. If you pass up Iwaizumi-san, I don't know whether you'd have another shot at love -"

He dodged around the notebook flung at him, breaking into a snigger. "I meant no offence, Oikawa-san, it was only an observation-"

"You're a little shit," Oikawa huffed out, crossing his legs and sinking his chin down to his chest. "I am never coming to you for advice again. You're horrible to me."

Looking like he was on the verge of laughter, Yahaba gathered himself, exhaling quickly. "You're still very handsome."

Oikawa arched an eyebrow. _" Still_? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget I said anything." 

"I think I'll forget your existence," Oikawa declared smoothly, turning back to his desk. "And when I do remember, I think maybe you'll have twice as many words to memorise tonight."

Yahaba's answering groan had Oikawa smiling. 

"Is this a trick?" Kunimi asked, tone flat as he gazed at the paper in Iwaizumi's hand. 

"No, it's not," Iwaizumi hissed out. "Just take it, alright?"

“I don’t need it.”

Iwaizumi frowned. Kunimi had been afforded some freedom as a gesture of good will after the negotiations, but paper was not one of them. He could wander the corridors with a guard, and had nipped past them a few times, not due to the guard's negligence, but due to his small presence. 

"Why don't you need it? I know we search you, but it'd be easy enough to hide…"

Scrutinising him a moment, Kunimi's nose creased up, gaze seemingly piercing through Iwaizumi to his skeleton. After a trok, his expression eased out again, and Iwaizumi assumed he'd come to a decision.

Kunimi opened his palm. In it, the shards of wood he'd picked off from the table, when he was negotiating with Akaashi. "I can leave any time I want."

Iwaizumi blinked. "Why?"

Sighing, Kunimi closed his fist again. "What is paper made out of?"

Iwaizumi suddenly felt extremely dumb. "So why haven't you left?"

"Information. I'm not just sitting here." Kunimi's expression didn't change, but he rose to his feet, placing a finger in the door lock. Iwaizumi stooped, seeing one of the pieces of wood lodged in it. "One of your comrades must've figured it out, though. There's no wooden furniture in my room. It's all metal."

As Kunimi returned to his chair, Iwaizumi stepped back, drinking in the room Kunimi had been given. It was a standard Form member room - but he hadn't noticed that the chair Kunimi was slouching back on was entirely metal, his bedframe shining underneath the hanging sheets. 

It didn't take long for a likely suspect to come to Iwaizumi's mind. It had to have been Kenma - Akaashi hadn't mentioned anything to him about Kunimi being able to store power in wood. Kenma tended to keep things to only the people who needed to know. 

"Thanks for the useless offer," Kunimi said, scanning Iwaizumi's face. "But you're not working with her, are you?"

Iwaizumi didn't even answer before Kunimi bowed his head, the sides of his hair swinging down past his temples. "You're not. So, deserting?" 

Iwaizumi bit his lip. "I'm not deserting. I'm just - I know this isn't right. I'm trying to fix it, however I can."

"Which is?"

"Freeing you, for starters. Then I'm going to get the others out of here."

"The murderers?" Kunimi fiddled with the wooden bits. His fingers were pale against the dark brown shards, nails picking off the tiny strips of paint. "Why would you want to free them?"

"They're not -" Iwaizumi stopped himself before tearing into Kunimi, recognising the glint in his eyes. 

"You're a noble guy," Kunimi said. It was almost the most nonchalant sentence Iwaizumi had ever heard, and he was beginning to see the truth in Yaku's previous comment about him always bringing back assholes. 

"Do you want my help or not?" Iwaizumi questioned. "I have somewhere else to be." 

"I'm good." 

Iwaizumi scanned Kunimi's lanky form, his arm slung over the back of his chair, seemingly comfortable in the continuing silence. He wasn't sure how to respond. If Kunimi didn't want his help, he couldn't force him to take it. To be honest, Iwaizumi hadn't even realised that maybe Kunimi had it all under control. 

He outstretched his hand again, offering the paper. "Take it. Just in case."

Kunimi plucked it from his fingers. The motion was surprisingly soft, like a rogue swirl of wind had eased it out from between them. 

"Thanks. But if they find paper on me, I'm not covering for you."

Iwaizumi gave him a grim smile. "Then make sure they don't find it."

  
  


Iwaizumi slipped into the Room of Order early. 

Kenma was absent, as usual. Akaashi was pacing the room, glancing up when Iwaizumi entered, giving him a nod of welcome. His expression reminded Iwaizumi of the crowd at a funeral, balancing somewhere between grief, anger and denial. It wasn't easily identifiable - but the tiny motion of Akaashi's lower lip shifting, the knots underlying his forehead, gave it away. As he pulled out a chair, near to the top but not too near, he realised that he'd gotten a lot better at picking up on details he'd have missed before. 

"You should've let us come to the fight."

Iwaizumi shook his head. "You wouldn't have been able to stop him. He only listens to Kita and Atsumu."

He felt Akaashi slip up beside him, placing both of his palms flat on the table and leaning towards him. "You would've died if he wasn't there, Hajime. I - I'm sorry I -"

Twisting to look at him, Iwaizumi was struck by just how much guilt was dripping out of Akaashi's damp eyes. 

"Hey," he said, gripping his arm. "Don't regret telling me of that. I would've… I would've probably done something a lot more reckless otherwise."

Akaashi nodded slowly. "Still, I… I underestimated his strength. I apologise."

"Don't." Iwaizumi's thumb pressed into the crook of Akaashi's elbow. It wasn't his fault. He had to make him understand that it wasn't his fault. "I underestimated him, too. It's fine, Keiji. I didn't die, so focus on doing all you can now, alright?"

Straightening up, Akaashi pulled his arm away, his head moving in a slight, slight incline forwards that Iwaizumi assumed was supposed to be another nod. Iwaizumi felt like he should say something else - anything else, to break the awful ice closing over his throat. He knew Akaashi hadn't forgiven himself. He didn't know what else to say. They sat there, side by side, Akaashi's head lowered into his hands.

Most of the others streamed in within a few minutes. 

Neither Osamu nor Iwaizumi avoided each other's eyes. They looked at each other, and Iwaizumi saw the same wary dislike reflected back at him. Neither of them said anything as everyone settled around them, talking in lowered voices. Yaku passed by Iwaizumi, exchanging a few words in a half-rushed conversation. There were a few faces Iwaizumi didn't recognise - more Osole members, he could only assume. Asahi's seat was taken. 

Kita held up his hand, seated at Osamu's right side, and the room was covered with silence within a trok. 

"We have a lot to-" he began. 

"Osamu-san!"

Iwaizumi's head snapped towards the voice, from an unfamiliar man by the entrance of the room, the guard posted outside tugging at his arm, trying to drag him back out. 

"Um…" The Osole soldier was sweating, his shirt splattered with dark grey under his armpits and in a narrowing stream down his chest. He shoved back the other guard, other hand clutching the doorframe. "Kunimi has left."

"Left?" Osamu repeated. "I wasn't aware that was an option for him."

Atsumu gaped. "The fuck you mean, _left?"_

"He - told me he was going to the bathroom, and he was taking a long time so I assumed he was taking a shit but -"

"Short version, please," Ennoshita stated, and the guard nodded, wiping his sweat off with his sleeve. 

"I went in and the whole wall was gone. He somehow collapsed it quietly and looped around me. We're not sure where he went -"

"Please, for the Lady's sake, tell me that you sent extra guards to the exits." 

The soldier's mouth flapped open and closed, and Osamu sighed. "Since when did we get so desperate for members we began recruiting morons?"

"Ushijima, you go and help in the search. Take Kita and - " Akaashi paused, skimming over Iwaizumi. He prepared himself to be chosen - his gift of hunting made him their best tracker. As if he was actually going to trail Kunimi yet again. "- Yaku." 

Yaku glanced over at Iwaizumi, who shrugged. Perhaps Akaashi wanted him here, involved in decisions. Perhaps this was his way of apologising. Either way, he was glad he wasn't out wasting his time searching for a boy he didn't want to find. 

"We were going to have to let him go eventually," Akaashi pointed out, impassive. "He signed the contract. We have to trust that he'll keep it." 

"We could've at least gotten some collateral from him first to make sure of that," Ennoshita sighed out. "He'll do everything possible to dodge it, I know it."

Atsumu inhaled deeply, dragging his palms down his face. 

"We don't have a single thing. Not a single fucking bargaining chip. And on top of all that, Kunimi's fucking gone?"

Iwaizumi bit the inside of his lip, attempting to keep his expression as neutral as possible. He couldn't be seen breaking, even a little. But by the Lady, he wanted to grin. 

"That's it," Osamu determined. "I know you guys have reservations about war, but there's no other way to do this. The longer we wait, the stronger she'll become." 

Iwaizumi hesitated. They didn't have the numbers to pull off a siege, or cut off every single one of the supply routes. And with every passing day, more magickers were filtering up from the South, and perhaps ones from the North, in addition to the Lords paying closer attention…

He had to find another way. He had to think. Around him, things moved on. 

"What about Flightless?" Osamu asked, directing his gaze across to Akaashi.

Akaashi shook his head. "Suga hasn't answered any of my messengers. I think with Daichi captive, he's afraid to have any contact with us."

Iwaizumi frowned. "That doesn't sound like Suga."

"Regardless of the reason, he's been silent. I doubt we can count on support from Flightless."

"That's just fine," Osamu said. "Don't need them." 

Iwaziumi clenched his fist. He _had_ to find another way. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Akaashi glance over at him, and he exhaled hard. Continued ambushing wasn't ideal when time was of utmost importance - if she managed to secure the backing of any Westland Lord, even a small one, they would be outnumbered. They possibly could hide away for a certain amount of time, but she had found them before. Iwaizumi doubted that they would ever be able to gather the strength together again to challenge her. But… would it really be such a bad thing if she ruled?

Iwaizumi paused. His eyes drew around the table as if they could somehow pluck out his traitorous thoughts, at Atsumu and Akaashi bent over a map, at Ennoshita and Moniwa's heads bowed together. He expected all of their heads to whip towards him, to shine bright with knowing, knowing he was a magicker, knowing he was doubting them, knowing. 

He wanted things to go back to normal. But this wasn't how they were before, and now, he was beginning to doubt if "before" was as shiny as his memory made it out to be. 

Tobio gurgled as Oikawa slipped into Kae's room. He shot a glare across at the baby nestled against Kae's side, crooked in one of her arms as she hummed lowly, skimming a finger across yet another letter. 

"You called for me?" Oikawa inquired, standing at the edge of her desk and resisting the urge to pat the little tuft of hair on Tobio's head. 

"They are preparing for war."

Oikawa felt a chill run through him at the flatness of Kae's tone. She sighed, drumming her fingers on the stack of sheets. It made a dampened crinkling sound. "I had perhaps hoped that the Form could see past their prejudices, but with Osole on board, it looks like they aren't going to change their minds. My scouts are reporting that they're becoming better armed by the day - I'm not sure where they're getting their weapons from, but they're preparing for something big."

"The Form joined up with Osole?" Oikawa queried, folding his hands behind his back, lest they give him away. He had a sense that his meeting with Iwaizumi wouldn't be looked upon favourably by her. Not that it went well. 

"Mm. Tendou warned me that might happen, and from what I can see, the Osole camp's numbers have increased far too much in such a short period of time." Kae flicked a page over, thoughtful. "Perhaps I should've eradicated the Form when I had the chance. But their damn hideout is so irritating to find, I thought an alliance would be simpler. In any case, I should know where it is soon.” 

Oikawa frowned. He hadn’t told her where it was, not had she asked. He wasn't even sure if he could lead her back there if he had wanted to, even if it wouldn't endanger Hajime. “How?”

“Oh, Oikawa,” she said, lifting her eyebrows. “Surely you don’t think I leave you in on all of my plans?” 

Oikawa gave her a dry smile, inclining his head. It was a fair statement. 

She rose to her feet, wrapping both of her arms underneath Tobio. "Fetch Tendou if you see him around, would you? I need to know what he can see. As unreliable as he is, it's better than nothing." 

Oikawa felt fear strike his ribs, reverberating loosely. "How accurate is his information?"

Kae rocked Tobio as she thought. His mouth opened, loosely puffing his breath up onto her sleeve, and she smiled down at him, a tinge of sadness tugging at her eyes. 

"Hmm… it's usually right about seventy percent of the time. I try not to rely on it, but it's useful at times." She turned back to Oikawa. "For instance, seeing where the two advisors had taken my son." 

There was the barest hint of a smile on her mouth, and Oikawa returned with one of his own. His mind was already turning to other statements of Tendou's. 

Seventy percent. Thirty percent chance that Tendou was wrong, that his best friends were fine, that Iwaizumi wouldn't die. 

Iwaizumi slouched back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. His shoulder sent a pang through him at the motion, but he ignored it. He'd almost rather fight Osamu again than listen to Ennoshita argue with Atsumu about the best way to shrink Kae's supply chains down. Although he knew full well how necessary plans like these were, by the Lady they were boring. Yaku was out with Ushijima trying to track down Kunimi, so he didn't even have him to exchange looks with. 

He had to admit to himself, Kae was no longer his top priority, nor convincing Oikawa back to their side. 

The knock on the door was a welcome interruption. 

"Come in," Akaashi called, and a guard pulled the door open, letting a man, thickly cloaked, speckles of rain still visible in his hair, step through. 

"Message from the scouts assigned to Futakuchi, Osamu-san,” the guard announced. 

"Oh, just great. More good news."

The messenger made a face as he reached underneath his cloak, handing a scroll over. "Uh… wish I could say differently."

Osamu took the thin scroll, flipping it open almost offhandedly, surveying it. Under the gazes of everyone, his nose scrunched up, and he tossed it back onto the table. Akaashi's hand snaked out and took it, reading down through it with a slight frown. 

"Futakuchi has been mobilising actual troops. About three hundred."

"Three hundred?!" Iwaizumi repeated. Sure, Kunimi had come thinly guarded, but three hundred was a goddamn miniature army. He'd heard that Futakuchi liked to be flashy, but hell, that flashy?

"How old is this information?" Akaashi asked the messenger. 

"It took me four days to ride here." 

"So, she's halfway to the castle already?" Ennoshita asked. 

Iwaizumi shook his head. "Impossible. Moving with such a large force takes time, perhaps twice as long as a messenger. Setting up camp takes hours for hundreds of men, at the very least, not to mention tending to the horses, and a dozen other things. She couldn't be more than a third way there." 

The messenger cleared his throat. "Actually, it's him. Futakuchi sent her son to deal with this."

"What?" Atsumu's brow dipped. "Why? I heard he was a moron."

"Either way, our plan doesn't change," Akaashi stated. "This might work in our favour, since he has less battle experience."

"We need to secure Futakuchi's son," Osamu said. "His arrival with his troops - as it stands, we can take them with our numbers, but if his troops join up with hers, it's too late."

"Divide and conquer," Akaashi observed.

"Ya got it." 

“Unless we try negotiating with him first?” Iwaizumi suggested. “Offer him a better deal?” 

Everyone's eyes slid across to him. It did nothing to daunt him. 

"Think about it," he pushed. "If we struck a deal with Futakuchi, we'd have access to numbers greater than hers. We could offer Futakuchi support and knowledge of the area and castle - with Osole also on board, it wouldn't even be all of his own soldiers he'd be risking."

"What can we give him that Kae can't?" Akaashi asked, and Iwaizumi stiffened, but once he met Akaashi's gaze, he knew he wasn't trying to catch him out. He was trying to give him a chance to expand, to sell the idea more. 

Iwaizumi took a breath. "Futakuchi likely doesn't like the idea of sharing power. If he works with us, we can go back to how it was before - us supporting a king from the shadows. Surely the allure of commanding a kingdom on his own, outside of his mother's shadow will appeal to him."

He paused, weighing up his own words, sloshing back and forth like a bad stew in his gut. It shouldn't go back to how it was before. But since Futakuchi was willing to use magickers, it wouldn't, he reasoned with himself. Things would change. They would. And then Oikawa would come back. 

Osamu's nose crinkled, like the folding of dark cotton. "I don't like the idea of allying with those skut-lovers."

"There's a time for your stupid beliefs to influence our politics, but now isn't the time," Iwaizumi snapped out, and Osamu gave him a filthy look. "Are you still sore about how I beat you? How childish."

"This has nothing to do with that -"

"Enough bickering," Ennoshita sliced across them. "If we are attacking Futakuchi, we need to send orders to begin sabotaging their supply train now. It should be easy enough to locate, given that there is only one viable road from there to the castle. If not, we need to begin working out how best to approach him to make him as likely as possible to ally with us."

Begrudgingly, Iwaizumi shut his mouth. They were right, but he was absolutely ready to launch himself at Osamu's dick face at a moment's notice. 

"Maybe Futakuchi is coming to take over already," Akaashi suggested. "They've been known for their aggressive moves in the past."

Atsumu shook his head. "Taking a fortified castle with only three hundred men? Impossible. We'd have done that already if it was. In addition, he had no siege machines with him, yeah? It's more likely that he's coming to scope out the situation in relative safety more than anything."

Osamu rubbed his chin. "If we do capture Futakuchi himself, we could get quite the bounty for him. Futakuchi's a rich kingdom, after all." 

Something ignited in Atsumu's eyes, and he raised his head, meeting his twin's gaze. "And with that money…"

"Mercenaries," Osamu finished, lowering his eyelids. "Not to mention more food, better equipment."

"Awero mercenaries?" Ennoshita asked, their eyebrows arching up. "They're unpredictable at best."

Atsumu shook his head. "No, not those idiots. The Daishou mercenary group. They're the best - Osamu has worked with them before, and if we can delay negotiations between that whore and Futakuchi, they might be able to lend us the numbers needed to drive the skuts out. Sure, they'll borrow some men from Awero too if needed, but as long as we pay them well, they'll get the job done." 

Leaning back in his seat, Iwaizumi folded his arms over his chest. "How much money are we talking? And how long will it take them to get here?"

They hashed out the logistics. It was a tediously slow process, and that was partially due to Iwaizumi arguing that perhaps teaming up with Futakuchi to remove her from the castle was the best course of action rather than threatening him. He knew it was a long shot. He knew the twins’ plan was a lot more reliable - the chances of Futakuchi actually dealing with a relatively weak (in comparison to the kingdom he came from) faction was almost none. The leverage of having her only son would go a lot further, and as the twins pointed out, there was a possibility of her acknowledging them once they had regained control of the kingdom and the system. 

Maybe she would wipe them out for taking her son. Maybe she wouldn't be able to. 

Ushijima, Kita and Yaku returned unsuccessful. Iwaizumi wasn't surprised. Kunimi was hard enough to spot when restricted to certain paths and travelling with two guards. Alone, able to go in any direction… he wasn't surprised the youngster gave them the slip. 

“Won’t attacking her son only push her towards Kae more?” Yaku asked, and Osamu stared up at the ceiling.

“She’s got Oikawa Tooru. If they meet, they’re walking out of there with an accord. I’ve only heard of his negotiations going poorly once. The best we can do is delay this meeting, attack the castle now when they’re not backed up by Futakuchi.” 

Iwaizumi’s shoulders were beginning to ache, the tenseness in his neck wearing on him, but he found himself unable to disagree. 

"Are we in agreement?" Akaashi asked. "A show of hands."

All gazes were directed at him. A flurry of raised hands surrounded him. 

Iwaizumi couldn't think of anything else. Folding his fingers into a fist, he lifted it in the air and hoped. 

Afterwards, he rushed down to the cell, ducking into his room on the way. The glimmer of hope had swelled into an idea, and Iwaizumi was beyond grateful that once again, the guard was outside the door, chatting to another soldier. They cast a lazy eye over Iwaizumi as he asked them to unlock the door (once the execution order had been confirmed, security measures had gone up) but didn't question him further. 

Iwaizumi flattened himself to the partition, not giving Matsukawa or Hanamaki the chance to speak. 

“Wait,” he gasped out, curling his fingers around the wire. “Wait until most of us are gone. We have to try and capture Futakuchi, and he’s bringing three hundred soldiers. This place will be nearly empty if Osamu plans to match his strength. And he has to."

“Hey, maybe you can think," Hanamaki praised him. Iwaizumi ran his gaze over them. Were their clothes hanging looser, or was he being paranoid? He made a note to check in with Yaku later to make sure they were being fed, cursing himself for overlooking something so obvious. 

"Can you stop insulting me for a single trok?" Iwaizumi asked, exasperated. He untied the bag of plants from his waistband and squeezed it through the hole. "Look, if you can talk enough shit to get the guard to leave again, you can prepare whatever you need to and break out. The people resistant won't be here."

"Getting the guard to leave? Not an issue," Hanamaki declared, shooting a loving look over at Matsukawa. "We've annoyed all of them to the brink of quitting the organisation. If we give any indication of starting on our bullshit they'll abandon their post."

“You look too proud of that.” 

As soon as he stepped back out into the hallway, Akaashi was waiting for him, a thrumming glint in his eyes, his fingers flexing around a sheet of paper. 

"Hajime," Akaashi called out to him, thrusting the paper into his hands. "Look at this. Remember when I was reading over all of our rules to try and reinstate you as leader? I found this as well."

Iwaizumi read through it, letting the implications soak in. He sucked in a breath, raising his head to meet Akaashi's triumphant eyes. "So -"

"Yes," Akaashi finished, a satisfied smile sneaking across his face. "I think it's about time the rules start working for us rather than against us, don't you think?"

"Where's Osamu's room?"

"Down and to the right. I'll come with you." 

Iwaizumi was about to burst in, but he felt a tug on his arm, halting him. 

"Better not to annoy him straight away," Akaashi said, and Iwaizumi reluctantly knocked at the door, impatience coursing through him. 

"Come in."

Osamu's voice was low and measured, as always, and it only served to heighten the clutch of Iwaizumi's breath. This had to work. It was going to work. They walked inside, the multitude of candles set up inside Osamu's room almost dizzying him, but he set his jaw, placing Osamu by his desk, orders spread out on the surface. He leaned back, blinking up at them.

"Oh, it's you two. What do you want? If you're here to get your ass kicked again, I'm busy-"

"That's not it," Iwaizumi interrupted him, unable to curb himself any longer. The paper had furled up into a roll again, and as Iwaizumi straightened it out, he realised his hands were damp, shaking. 

“The rules say that for execution commands, both a delegate from Osole and the Form have to be there,” Iwaizumi said, holding up the sheet Akaashi had given him. “So they can’t be executed when planned. We'll be away, fighting Futakuchi. Unless you want to weaken us further by staying behind?"

Osamu glowered at him half-heartedly. Iwaiuzmi could tell, despite his burning hatred for magickers, that there were other things on his mind. He had to be distracted, after the news about Futakuchi. He was proven right when Osamu's gaze slid off of Iwaizumi, settling somewhere in between Akaashi and the doorway. “So they die later rather than sooner. Fine by me. Now get out of my room." 

Iwaizumi breathed a sigh of relief. He was certain that if Osamu hadn’t been so occupied with Futakuchi, he would’ve ordered their deaths straight away. As it was, Iwaizumi doubted he had time to witness an execution amongst the last-minute supply gathering and planning. 

The door sounded behind them, and Iwaizumi and Akaashi turned. Atsumu held up a hand, the other still curled around the edge of the door. "Interrupting somethin', am I? My bad." 

"No, you're not." Osamu stood up, stepping towards them. Iwaizumi felt a hand come down on his shoulder. His left shoulder. His fingers dug in, and Iwaizumi fought back a wince. "They're leaving. Tell what you told me to Kita, okay? He's the one who deals with the logistics." 

"Okay," Akaashi acknowledged, and then Astumu slipped by them, nodding to his brother as if they had telepathically agreed on something. 

"Why do I feel like they're planning something?" Iwaizumi said as they left. 

"They always seem like that," Akaashi replied. "Don't be sidetracked. We bought some time for your friends, and that's all that matters at the moment."

"Yeah." Iwaizumi smoothed out the wrinkles in the precious, precious paper with his thumbs. "You're right."

“I have to say, I feel a lot more at ease now that Sugawara is gone.” 

Kae rotated her neck, her hand reaching up to massage her nape. Oikawa could see her shirt sleeve shift downwards, a little flash of blackness peeking out. It looked so harmless. 

Oikawa let out a dry laugh. “Me too. At least Kuroo is more or less upfront about his intentions.” 

They’d just seen Sugawara off on his dappled grey horse. To Oikawa’s surprise, he’d been calm, pleasant, and wholly cooperative during his entire stay. Perhaps he was simply docile because of Daichi, but somehow Oikawa wasn’t convinced. Sugawara wasn't the type to keep his head down and brave out the storm - unless he was afraid of losing Daichi yet again? Oikawa's breath caught. He understood that fear well. 

A soldier approached them, his pants filling up the hallway. "Message for you, Kae-sama!"

Kae's mouth downturned as she read through the note, dismissing the soldier with a wave of her hand. She had begun to wear gloves, and Oikawa wondered exactly how much time was left before he had to work with her next-in-line. Abruptly, she snapped up the scroll, launching herself back into a stride.

"We need to get to Futakuchi, and fast."

Oikawa quirked an eyebrow upwards. "Why?"

She sighed. “With Kunimi captured, I thought the Form would be satisfied. It appears not - scouts have seen their camp shifting, and Tendou has informed me of their intent to capture Futakuchi too. I should have seen this coming, especially with how easy his convoy will be to spot," Kae informed him. "The Form will try to attack him before he reaches us, which is what I'd do in their position. Three hundred men isn’t much, but it’s enough to make a difference. Unless they choose to employ a mercenary group - and I doubt that will happen within this time frame - they'll be well and truly outnumbered if Futakuchi reaches us.” 

"But they're nearer to Futakuchi's border-"

"Which means we have to ride harder," Kae said, tossing a pair of leather gloves over to him. "Take these. You'll need them while riding. We're leaving at dawn - the only question is when the Osole will attack, but we have to be there when they do. Rest up before you go."

Oikawa felt confusion run through him. He had always been left behind on missions like these. Fair, he hadn’t revealed that he could fight to anyone, but still… "Why me? Futakuchi already agreed to meet with you."

"Because their larger force will need more time to reach the border, and as we have to gain ground on them, I'm bringing a smaller group, but it can make a hell of a difference in a closely numbered battle. You can fight at the strength of ten men, if not more. And for your healing abilities, of course. That goes without saying."

"I'm… I'm not sure if I want to fight," Oikawa said weakly, and he felt even more papery when she gazed at him, jaw set. 

"Do you want any change in this country?"

"I do."

"Then you will fight, and you will kill, to prevent more magicker deaths. Don’t pretend I haven’t noticed your pacifist ideals.” 

Oikawa stared at the floor, at the rich red carpet flattening beneath his boots. Yahaba's face flashed before his eyes, and he blinked. 

Kae, seemingly under the impression that the conversation was over, continued. "I'm bringing some other strong magickers with us - ones powerful enough to turn the tide of battle. That will be one advantage Osole will never have." 

Dragging his eyes upwards, Oikawa didn't miss the little smile at the edge of her mouth. "Which ones?"

"Oh, you'll see." Kae stopped, the moss at the side of her neck glistening. "I intend to show you a full-on demonstration of what magickers can really do, when we’re not stomped down upon and oppressed like animals.” 

Something shone in her eyes. Something that hung unease around Oikawa's lungs. He knew she was working on three hours of sleep for the past week, maximum, that he ran a similar schedule, and it was only because of his father's rotten blood that he could handle it. But her power was borrowed, loaned, and deities didn't bargain cheaply. She was glowing, the moss pulsating on her skin, and Oikawa smiled, a smile that felt like dried paint cracking across his lips.

"You look… refreshed."

"Ah- I had a bath," Kae said hurriedly, but the hastiness of her words did nothing to dull the eagerness in her expression, the anticipation curving her lips upwards. "That's not important now. What is is how we finally have a shot at justice, after all these years. Don't you want that? Don't you want them to feel the pain we did at their hands?"

She must've seen his hesitation, because she narrowed her eyes up at him. Oikawa controlled his face, careful that she wouldn't be able to pierce through to his true thoughts. 

"Of course", he agreed evenly, adding a little smile for emphasis. "It's past time for that."

"Good."

  
  


Oikawa eyed the armour on his bed. Red and black. Blatantly Aecus. As if she was saying _you’re one of us now. Don’t turn back._

Oikawa hated being herded. He carefully laid the armour out on the floor, noting the lightweight feel, the curves crafted to fit over broad shoulders. Kae must’ve planned for him to fight at some stage. There was no way she could've commissioned such a detailed piece of artwork at such short notice. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. 

He flipped through his wardrobe. A sort of warbling sensation fluttered in his chest, and he paused, laying a hand over his shirt. His heart was racing, fast and hard. Ah. 

He might see Hajime again. 

He wondered if Hajime understood his decision, even now, or if he still thought of him as a selfish bastard. With a grim little smile, Oikawa picked out a shirt and shut his wardrobe. He wouldn't be exactly wrong in that regard - his room in the castle was comfortable, well-defended, and objectively nicer than underground, but Oikawa had left for so much more. 

And now he was being asked to kill for that more. 

Drawing in a slow breath, Oikawa knelt down on the floor, smoothing out the shirt beside the armour. He could feel Kindaichi's bemused eyes on him, but he would let Kindaichi wonder. He looked at the shirt, then across to the armour. Yes, they matched. Oikawa stared at the armour a trok longer, his breaths dampened. 

Yahaba, as he had predicted, ducked into Oikawa's room later, barely bothering to knock beforehand. Oikawa made a mental note to scorch him for not respecting him - or, when he came back. The thought sank like a rock down into Oikawa's stomach. There was no guarantee that he would come back. He sat up on his bed, tucking the book underneath his pillow, and faced Yahaba. He was almost quivering with excitement, the outside strands of his hair trembling in the air. Oikawa felt an aging sort of pity sweep through him, wearying his bones. Why were the young ones always so eager to die?

"Oikawa-san? I heard we were riding out soon-"

"You're staying," Oikawa told Yahaba, and Yahaba lifted his chin. "I'm coming. I can fight too.”

"Not while you're under my mentorship," Oikawa answered, trying to make his voice as hard as possible. From the faltering in Yahaba's mouth, the hesitation in his reply, it appeared to have worked. 

"I was already discharged from your mentorship once -"

"You are not coming, whether you exit my mentorship or not," Oikawa said firmly. "If all goes badly, and both Kae and I are killed, you are one of the last trained Breathers in Katachi. Well, mostly trained. We can handle this." 

Yahaba bit his lower lip, his eyes creasing up, and Oikawa, reaching up, rested a hand on his shoulder. "Trust me. It'll work out, okay?"

Despite still looking unsure, Yahaba nodded, releasing his lip. And internally, Oikawa sighed out in relief, his chest loosening just a bit. He had a gut feeling that Yahaba wasn't ready to see battle, not like this. Not between skilled, military magickers and those specifically equipped to counter them, not a battle between such closely matched numbers. Oikawa had a sinking in his gut. 

It wasn't war, but it was too close for him to risk Yahaba. He wouldn't lose another apprentice, whether to their mistakes or his. He should've learned by now. 

“Meanwhile, you can work on choosing your taken name,” Oikawa told a somehow deflated Yahaba. "Choose something that reflects your core values, but isn't easy to guess. I've left a dictionary of the deity language on the study table."

Yahaba stared sullenly at the floor, and Oikawa continued on. “The name you choose, in deity speak, will give you more connection to your white, since it is a part of a deity’s power, but if another magicker knows it, it can be used to also dampen down your abilities. So choose carefully before binding yourself to one.” 

“What’s yours, then?”

Oikawa gave him a tight smile. “Not today, Yahaba-kun. You have to get me a lot drunker for that."

He cast his mind back. How had Kae known his taken name? Had the king let it slip during pillowtalk? Had she planned to have him on her side a lot longer before now, or simply wanted to investigate a possible threat? 

He saw Kindaichi, out of the corner of his eye, stick out his tongue at Yahaba, and turned to him. 

“I don’t know what you’re being so cheeky about, Kindaichi. You’re staying here too.” 

“But it’s my job to protect you!” Kindaichi protested, upturning his free hand. 

“I got Kae to assign me a new guard for the trip,” Oikawa told him. “This is a battle we can’t surrender from.”

Kindaichi flinched. "I didn't surrender - it was my superior officer-"

"Even so," Oikawa cut across him. "He likely surrendered to save your lives. He was probably executed, right?"

Kindaichi nodded slowly. 

"Then," Oikawa continued, absently slipping on and off his gloves. "I won't allow his sacrifice to amount to nothing. You are young, inexperienced, and you are staying here with Yahaba."

"But," Kindaichi was biting his lip. "How will I gain experience if I don't go to battle?"

Oikawa sighed. "Small fights first, after training. Diving headfirst into a battle with soldiers specifically trained to fight magickers, who are much stronger than you naturally - isn't a good way to go about things, unless you have a death wish."

"But that's what I've done! I’ve practiced and trained even before you began mentoring me in Breathing - I know how to handle myself in a fight,” Yahaba argued, and Oikawa sighed. Yahaba's stubbornness alone would give him a headache. He was certain that a head-on collision with a ferqol would hurt his head less.

"Not nearly enough. You've only been practising with your Breath a month or two, and not against people as strong as Osole members." Oikawa's mouth tightened, memories bearing down. "They know what they're doing, as much as it hurts me to admit it."

"I survived an attack from them," Kindaichi pointed out, and Oikawa rubbed his temples. "Because you weren't the target, Kin-kun. They wanted to kill magickers, not sixteen year old guards. They wanted to get past you, and they almost had, if I hadn't interfered."

He saw the nervous swallow of Kindaichi's throat, and knew he'd at least convinced one stubborn brat in the room to be sensible. Refocusing on Yahaba, who was quiet, he saw a quivering, tightly-set jaw and pinched eyes, shoulders put back. 

"No arguing," Oikawa told him, and he felt his tone hardening into an order. "You will stay here and study. If you feel restless, you can spar with the guards left behind to train, but don't kill any of them. Only attempt minor injuries to heal. Got it?"

Yahaba folded his arms across his chest. "I can do more-"

Oikawa stood. Yahaba's eyes followed him, holding trepidation and determination in equal measure, all in the swirling grey of his irises. 

"Shigeru, if I have to tell you once more to stay here, you're leaving for good," Oikawa said, calmly and smoothly, a knife drawing across flesh. "If you can't tell the difference between taking initiative and being blatantly, stupidly reckless, then I can't teach you any more. You will become a danger to yourself and others if you don't use proper judgement, and I have no intention of making you more dangerous. So tell me -" his hand came down hard on Yahaba's shoulder, squeezing. Yahaba winced a little. "- are you going to stay here or not?"

"I…" Yahaba's teeth bit down hard on his lower lip, red hollows forming underneath, but he never flinched away from Oikawa's gaze. "I'll stay here." 

"Good," Oikawa said softly, patting his shoulder. He turned away, flopping back on the bed and sliding out his book. "So, if that's all you need me for, I'd kindly ask you to leave me in peace now. Goodnight!"

He opened his book, watching Yahaba out of the corner of his eyes. Kindaichi shuffled to the doorway and settled back against the frame, his spear lying diagonally across his body. Yahaba stilled, then took a breath, a breath that seemed to suck all the light out of the room. Oikawa reread the sentence he'd just read. Waited. 

"Fuck you," Yahaba said, and left.

Oikawa turned the page. 

Kindaichi woke him. 

"Oikawa-sama? It's dawn." 

Oikawa lay in bed, his fingers curling around the sheets. The awareness of the armour positioned on the floor felt hot in his mind, urgent. 

"Good morning, Kin-kun," he chirped out, pushing back the sheets and slipping out onto the rich rug. It felt grainy underneath his bare toes. 

Once dressed, he picked up the chestplate of the armour, rotating it slowly. The dawn rays hit against it, and nothing reflected back. After a moment of consideration, he tossed it into the corner and grabbed his cloak. 

He could almost hear Iwaizumi chiding him for being foolish, for not improving his chances of survival, but he wasn't becoming Kae's soldier. Not today. 

He bade Kindaichi goodbye, and as he made his way down the hallway, he lingered slightly outside Yahaba's room. Wetting his lips, he shook his head to himself and moved on. He'd survive to come back and clear the air. Out of the windows, he could see the sky lightening, but the sun itself was invisible, hidden by a deep, thick covering of grey clouds.

Silver hair flashed in the corner of his eye, and Oikawa slowed, his mind ticking over fast. He couldn't have, surely he wasn't - 

As he whipped back around, they leapt out of the corner and covered Oikawa's mouth with his palm, shoving him back against the wall. The handle of a decorative axe dug in between Oikawa's shoulder blades, and he hissed. As always, his strength surprised Oikawa, the force he'd been propelled back with unexpected from such a short, slender man. 

"Hello again," Sugawara said softly, his eyes twinkling. "You aren't going to cause a fuss, are you?"

Oikawa wrestled with the option of piercing his palm with his Breath for a trok, then closed his eyes, shaking his head. Lowering his hand, Suga surveyed Oikawa with a gaze far too alight for Oikawa's comfort. 

"If you were going to give me up, I would already be dead, wouldn't I?" Suga said lightly, and Oikawa couldn't hold back a smile. "My my, you really got an accurate read on me already, didn't you? Are you feeling pleased with yourself?"

"In fact, I am," Sugawara confirmed, resting his hands on his hips. Oikawa felt his eyes narrow as he tried to pinpoint an opportunity where Sugawara would've had the chance to manipulate his memory - and found plenty, many chances where they were alone and shared only a memory they two knew - traded for…

"You put the fake memory of you leaving the castle in our minds," Oikawa spoke softly. "Why didn't you just sneak back in?"

Sugawara's nose scrunched up. "This place is annoyingly well guarded, even the passageways underneath, thanks to the Form's failed attempt at grabbing Tobio. You aren't the first person I've had to subdue. But enough about that." He stepped back, shadows falling over his face. "Kae will be expecting you, no? I trust this encounter will stay between us."

Oikawa's mouth twisted up into a bitter smile. "Why not just erase this memory of mine?"

"Don't give me ideas."

"Oh, I have a sense you have plenty of your own without me giving you more." 

Sugawara placed a finger over his own lips. "I think you will stay quiet without me having to strain myself. Goodbye, Oikawa."

Oikawa watched him go, sucking in the side of his cheek. Huh. It amazed him, how silent Suga's steps were, even with his senses, and his confidence… Oikawa would be lying if he didn't know why Daichi was trusting him with his life and his people. A spike of jealousy wedged in Oikawa's throat. What would it be like, having people you trusted so absolutely around you? 

He let out a breath. Yahaba was a good man, but he wasn't what Oikawa would regard as a partner, someone who could handle equal responsibility. Kindaichi was too young, too naive. Kae was… unpredictable at best. And he'd given up Hajime. 

Swallowing hard, Oikawa pushed himself off of the wall, resigning himself. 

Should he tell Kae? Suga was most definitely not here to help their cause.

If he told her, Kae would come down hard on Flightless. Oikawa thought of how simply she'd discussed the Osole situation, and how she had given Suga a second chance only because he was a magicker like her. He thought of the dead mercenaries that had the nerve to fail her and take a bribe. 

Oikawa's fists curled up. Maybe there was a possibility that he could convince her to strike a new leader of Flightless instead - Kuroo? Oikawa sighed. Because he’d had so much success with convincing her to have a court for magicker crimes too. He smoothed out his sleeve as he thought. Kuroo might be cooperative, but only if nothing happened to Daichi and Sugawara. He had a feeling Kae wouldn't let the insult of Daichi escaping slide. She would want some sort of retribution for breaking the contract.

Which was more important to him? The people or the cause? He had no particular friends in Flightless any more -

Oikawa's lip curled up. Kyoutani. 

Yahaba would never forgive him. 

He thought of Hinata, only just settled in his new home. Of Tanaka, who had taken him in without hesitation, of the magickers teasing each other in plain sight, displaying a comfortable fearlessness that Oikawa envied. 

Oikawa closed his eyes. It didn't matter if he had continued. He knew he'd already chosen. And if Tendou had foreseen what Suga was going to do - if what he feared would happen came to pass, at least it wouldn't be his fault. 

Walking down the corridor, Oikawa shouldered the door open, the dawn light flooding him. He tightened the rope around the end of his gloves. The early sunlight held no warmth, and neither did Kae's greeting call. 

He was a tool, and it was up to him if he was going to be a tool that killed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NONE OF YOU ARE READY FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER. I'M NOT EVEN READY FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER. THIS IS THE CHAPTER I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE I WROTE LIKE THE THIRD CHAPTER. THIS IS WHAT RUNS IN MY HEAD WHILE EPIC MUSIC PLAYS. I AM SO EXCITED !!  
> it'll take a bit longer because futakuchi is a bitch. not that he's a bitch to write, just that he's a bitch.  
> thank you so much for commenting!! they really make my day ^^


	18. Ruination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Futakuchi's one slippery bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out these artists and leave a nice comment if you can!  
> Bea's [ stunning art plus moss comic!](https://twitter.com/BeanMatcha/status/1328334391169359875?s=20)  
> Skai's [ amazing art](https://twitter.com/ACatNamedSkai/status/1325945721166696448?s=20)  
> and their [ cinematic masterpieces ](https://twitter.com/ACatNamedSkai/status/1332290460199641088?s=20)  
> Their ["ONLY THE LONELY SURVIVE" ANIMATIC](https://twitter.com/ACatNamedSkai/status/1329559769301082114?s=20)  
> [ WATERPARKS ANIMATIC](https://twitter.com/ACatNamedSkai/status/1331682138836652039?s=20)  
> Tien's[ "Kindaichi with a knife," comic ](https://twitter.com/tienwashere/status/1323647272308121602?s=20)  
> @Hassasgretsch's [tender hand-kissing art](https://twitter.com/Hassasgretsch/status/1314067134851424256?s=20)  
> Munagerie's [golden oikawa](https://twitter.com/munagerie/status/1325186937011965953?s=20)  
> Bug's [art of oiks being a shithead ](https://twitter.com/wildberry_cola/status/1329455726113255425?s=20)  
> and her[ awesome angry iwa portrait!!](https://twitter.com/wildberry_cola/status/1329998591692337153?s=20)  
> The other, better half of my braincell, the glorious denimnoodle's godtier art :[PURE CUTE IWAOI FLUFF](https://twitter.com/denimnoodle/status/1325160111665537025?s=20)  
> and her[ FERAL IWA](https://twitter.com/denimnoodle/status/1332095300761235459?s=20)  
> unfortunately, due to the length, I've had to split what I hoped would be one chapter into two.  
> the next should be out within two weeks though!!  
> (and no. without the split it would be 30k at once. you don't want that much at once.)  
> the last king playlist is [here, if you'd like a listen to set the mood!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2aRayeGghOf3mieFrEhTV4?si=9icQ7SHlSdWCtNv7xjZj0w) (I tried to include as many genres as possible!)  
> Warning: some parts get a bit gory, skip from "crimson-smeared cheek" down to "he's just like that," if you don't want to read it!

Yaku arrived at Iwaizumi's door later, carrying a massive sack in his arms. Like always, there were daggers swinging from his belt, his forearms covered by metal gauntlets. Iwaizumi could see flickers of tiny metal shards on his clothes when he moved, glittering in the candlelight.

"Here's the latest ‘Hajime-don't-get-killed’ delivery," Yaku told him, dumping the sack on the floor with a heavy clink. "Since you're going back into proper battle and you don't have your Torem-brand armour, I reckoned you could do with an upgrade. That light stuff only does so much."

He turned around without an answer, rifling through the bag.

“Take your clothes off,” Yaku told him, and Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?” 

"Not all of them, you moron." Yaku spun around, a quilted shirt dangling off of his short, stocky arms. “I need to check if it fits. Put this on if you don’t want to get killed.” 

“Oh, right.” Iwaizumi complied, slinging his cloak onto the bed, stripping down to his bare chest.

Yaku handed him over the shirt, and Iwaizumi slung it over his head. The material felt familiar, the weight of it reminding him of past preparations. If he stopped, hesitating mid-motion in the darkness of it, he could almost pretend that he was back in the castle, his latest apprentice waiting nearby for orders. Shaking the thought off, he yanked the shirt down.

Yaku had gathered up pieces of armour, held precariously in his arms.

He took a moment to examine the armour - it was fancier than the practical ones Yaku normally made, with swirls etched into the metal, curling wide around the ends of the gauntlets, plant-like designs blooming from the bottom of the chestplate. It surprised Iwaizumi, the amount of care Yaku had put into creating it - he couldn't have had much time between fashioning weapons for the Osole. 

“Here,” Yaku murmured. He handed over the chest piece first, then began undoing the gauntlets he'd secured around his own arms, likely for ease of transportation. They almost fit him. “It’s proper armour, nothing like the subtle stuff I gave you before. It might slow you a little, but it'll protect you from a lance a lot more."

He helped Iwaizumi ease it onto his chest, fastening the straps at the sides. Iwaizumi flexed his muscles, testing out the stretch and fit. Perfect, like always.

"I added extra padding and support for your left shoulder," Yaku told him, demonstrating by smacking said shoulder piece. Iwaizumi felt a dull thud, but not nearly as much as he should have. 

“So,” Yaku mentioned. “How does it feel, being back preparing for battle?” 

“Weird,” Iwaizumi muttered, and Yaku nodded. “It’s not quite the same as before, is it?” 

Despite the padded shirt, Iwaizumi felt the coldness of the metal press against his chest as he inhaled, soaking in over his skin like a ghostly hand had spread out on it. 

"No." The confession felt heavy on his lips. "It isn't."

The journey passed in a stomach-clenching blur.

Rise, ride, set up camp, eat, sleep. Iwaizumi had far too much time for introspection, the stress of not knowing if Osamu had kept to the rules or not bunching up into knots in his shoulders. He prayed they had gotten out alright. 

Three days bloomed and waned. 

They met up with the scouts. Iwaizumi trailed an eye around - he knew this territory. It was rare to find a part he didn't. There wasn't much for the scouts to do - roads were few and far between in Katachi, and as for maintaining them, Torem had gotten about halfway through the process before he was killed. Futakuchi’s travel options were highly limited. 

He moved through the Form members - the loss of Goshiki had clearly shaken some of the younger ones, but Iwaizumi was secretly glad he wasn't here. He didn't think he could take having yet another person he cared about in danger. Although there was still a clear division between the Form members and the Osole, the gap between their tents wasn't as large as Iwaizumi would like. Slowly, idly, they were mixing, chatting to the other, complaining about the long marches, the rations and lumbering around carrying the heavy armour. 

Iwaizumi was almost glad to see the stares rake against his skin as he moved into the Osole side of the encampment, the sweat from his back dribbling down the back of his thighs as he walked. Despite the little shred of spring whispering through the air, there was still barely any heat in the sun, and yet, the marching took its toll. With the back of his hand, he swept aside the flap of the largest tent and strode inside. 

The whole area smelled of damp sweat. He received a collection of nods, apart from Osamu, who barely acknowledged his arrival. Akaashi and Atsumu parted for him, and he fit into the circle, immediately examining the map in front of them. He got up to speed quickly - they were approaching on a collision course soon, but determining where the ambush should take place was another matter. 

Iwaizumi drew his finger over a mountain, visualising the scene. 

"He has to pass through here. No other roads are large enough to accommodate the carts he had for supplies."

The tent material whipped above him, the wind rising. The flag perched on top held Osole's mark. Iwaizumi hoped the wind ripped it right off. Underneath the eyes of everyone standing at the table, he continued. 

"We've forced him to send more guards back to the supply trains from our earlier attacks, so there should be less to break through to reach him," Iwaizumi said. "Ushijima - how have the preliminary disruptions of their supply chains been going?"

Ushijima nodded. "Well. I estimate that we've destroyed around a third of their intended supplies."

"Hmm." It was less than Iwaizumi had hoped for, but it was something. They were only working with scouts, after all. "So their morale should be lowered, even a little. If we manage to break them down before meeting them in battle, all the better."

"Speaking of battle," Atsumu mentioned, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "How do you intend to do this? You guys are the battle strategists, right?" 

He looked over at Iwaizumi and Ushijima. The wind growled at the end flaps of the tent, snapping at Iwaizumi's heels. 

Iwaizumi nodded, but with a grimace. Kenma should've been here, but he'd vanished yet again. His commitment to doing as little as possible really was astounding - he involved himself only when he wanted to, and apparently he had decided to sit this one out. Ennoshita had pulled Iwaizumi aside and explained that they hadn't felt ready for responsibility like this - and Iwaizumi understood. They didn't possess the Miyas' unerring confidence.

"Futakuchi’s armour and weapons are troublesome,” Osamu said. “But most troublesome of all are their shields. Their wall rebuilds itself over and over again. How're you gonna tackle that?"

There was a bite of a challenge in his words. Iwaizumi clenched his fists. He had an idea, but he hated Osamu. But there was a time and place for feelings, and he hadn’t found it yet. He just knew now wasn’t it. He suspected there might be a person for his feelings, but he locked that thought away for later. 

"Futakuchi's son is inexperienced," Iwaizumi said. “If we break their formation, he won’t take steps to rectify it until it’s too late.” 

Sometimes what he said scared him. He could feel himself slipping back into the numb, hard shell of a man, a leader who saw what was in front of him for what it was and knew how to break it apart. 

He saw Osamu side-eye him, but he disregarded the glance. His focus was on the lay of the battle ahead of him. 

“Draw them out,” Iwaizumi continued. “I suspect if their shields really are as effective as you say, they'll want to stick together. As a unit, their shields all work together. Split apart, they’ll be much easier to manage. Do you have some of that powder from the North you used to blow a hole in our base?” 

Osamu’s grin spread. “Shame you decided to try and fight me to the death. We could’ve been friends.”

“Fuck you.” 

They sighted Futakuchi's army the next day.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Iwaizumi nodded to himself, grateful his prediction was right. They had reached the decided-upon place earlier, just ahead of Futakuchi. They were going up against magickers - they needed the advantage of how the land lay. In this situation, it was a series of rocks left behind by a battle between deities, the cause and reason long forgotten, only the evidence lingering behind with time. Usually, the commanders would be mounted, but the grounds were treacherous, and they had decided not to risk the few horses they had. Iwaizumi preferred to be on the same level as the men he was leading anyway.

The paved road ran twisted and crooked, making it impossible to see far ahead, in addition to the awkward rise and swells of hills. Despite that, the rocks offered little shelter from the spiralling wind, continuing to cut through the gaps in Iwaizumi's armour. Every time he touched his metal armour, it grew even more freezing. 

He hated the desolation of these lands, sapped of life. 

Osamu, next to Iwaizumi, lifted a hand. Formations fanned out, holding their hidden positions. Iwaizumi eyed the skyline, at the height of noon, bright winter sun reflecting off of the armour of the soldiers marching. As expected, they were well-organised, a concentrated, trained force. Iwaizumi squinted, trying to spot the leader at the head, trailing up the stream of lined-up soldiers. 

Their own forces knew what to do.

With a signal from Osamu, they split into groups. Akaashi and Atsumu paired up leading one group, Ushijima and Kita, then Osamu and Iwaizumi. He exhaled deeply, watching as half of their soldiers crept across the track, making sure to be as silent as possible, winding single-file through the pathways, ducking behind rocks and hills. As far as he could tell, they managed to round to their other side unspotted. 

_Get ready._

Behind them, they spread out, archers stepping through to the front of the line, hooking their strings onto their bows. Iwaizumi surveyed the landscape - their view was clear, this area being previously scouted for this exact purpose. They had done their job well. Iwaizumi would've picked the same spot. It meant that they might get spotted, but they were banking on that.

Wind rustled through Iwaizumi's hair, and he begrudgingly put on his helmet. He took note of the wind direction, realising that they were firing into the draught. Usually, he would move his archers. But today was different. 

He could hear Futakuchi's army approaching before he saw them. 

It was familiar to his ears. The tandem of steel boots, a pattern, a string of calculated movements, all shifting in time, shield edges clanging together, the occasional shout or yell, the merged din of metal dragging against stone. He would be lying if the sound didn't thrill his bones. 

The waiting was tedious. The pounding of feet matched up with the pulse in Iwaizumi's neck until he couldn't tell the difference, couldn't tell if it was the vibrations from the hundreds of soldiers causing his body to prickle or his own blood. Either way, it drew out the troks, dragging past one by one. 

The wind stilled. Osamu raised an arm. Iwaizumi heard the stretch of the archer's bows, the distinctive groan of wood compressing in on itself. Osamu dropped his arm, and the bowstrings cracked, arrows hissing through the air with a skirl.

A warning cry bubbled up and burst from the troops in front of them. 

As expected, arms shot out, palms splayed towards the sky, and the first volley of arrows scattered wide, thudding into rocks, flying aside of the pathway. Not one arrow hit the ground near their feet. A cheer rose, broke and swelled like a wave, and then Osamu gave the second signal. 

Iwaizumi couldn't hear the twang of the bowstrings from their Ushijima's squad, but it was there, engrained in his memory as arrows sped towards their unguarded backs. 

“It doesn’t matter if they’re stronger than us,” Osamu said calmly. The arrows beat down fast - some of the Brickers managed to spin around, but only a few had the reaction speed to Brick them away in time - most of the arrows found their marks. Even though he was too far away, Iwaizumi's mind supplied the sound of arrowheads piercing metal, seeking flesh.

“They die like us,” Osamu finished. Metal split bone.

He looked so matter of fact about it. 

Iwaizumi recalled when he used to be like that. When men became obstacles and soldiers became tools. When magickers were the enemy and they were the good guys, the defenders, the protectors. He inhaled, the movement sharper, tighter than it should be, and focused on what was in front of him instead of the thoughts in his head. He couldn't let it affect his fighting. If he faltered here, he would die.

Osamu whipped his flail around in one rapid, tightly controlled circle, and behind him, his force responded, streaming past them towards Futakuchi's clustered units. 

"That isn't going to work," Iwaizumi said, frustration running through him. "I told you before now, if we are to break through -"

He was interrupted by an explosion ahead of them, the front row of soldiers being thrown and tossed into the air, like they were bucked from a horse. The rest slowed to a halt, nervously glancing at each other. Armour clanged to a stop.

“STORERS!” Osamu roared, and then, as one, the soldiers dipped their hands into their bags and flung something out in front of them. 

Clouds of dirt began spurting up from the ground before them. Iwaizumi realised that they were scattering little pebbles in front of them, hitting the traps left behind and setting them off before they reached them. 

Futakuchi had arranged the order of his magickers well - despite himself, he felt a begrudging respect. He too, would use Brickers for long-distance defence, Storers for mid-range, and Fracturers and Shifter for close-range. Iwaizumi felt bad for anyone who unwittingly stumbled over an object left on the ground. Whoever knew what Storers could keep energy in? But either way - the power was all triggered the same way, by touch. 

And right now, the dirt being sprayed from the soldiers' palms were setting them off, delaying their progress but advancing nonetheless, with much fewer casualties. 

Iwaizumi saw now. Organisation was the Osole’s weapon against the magickers. Every move was thought out, every trick matched with another trick. He nodded to himself. He could use that. He was used to working with inferior numbers, used to working with what he had to his fullest advantage. 

"Well, if this doesn't work, then we'll try your little trick, hm?"

Iwaizumi scowled at him. "If you used it to start with, a lot less lives would be lost."

"Mm. Shame you're not a leader anymore, isn't it?"

The burst of anger in Iwaizumi's chest was ill-timed. He recognised that. It did nothing to stop him from spinning to Osamu, his sword halfway sliding out of its sheath out of pure instinct.

"Is this really when you choose to insult me?" Iwaizumi snapped back, seeing how Osamu only slowly blinked in response. "Now? Of all times?"

Osamu turned away from him, gazing forwards. "Good leaders don't allow themselves to be provoked."

"Good leaders don't provoke others," Iwaizumi spat back, and yet Osamu didn't flinch. 

"You and I have different ideas of leadership."

Iwaizumi's jaw cracked shut, having to physically drag his emotions back down, reminding himself that there was more at stake than the satisfaction of beating Osamu's head down into his shoulders. 

He saw the soldiers pull together into a tight rectangle, shields out front and pikes poked through like a walking, bristling wall. Their own men clattered against the sides, but barely made a dent in their formation. He heard Osamu make a 'tch' sound beside him, surveying the situation with a displeased sourness. Iwaizumi rubbed a hand against his mark, and Atsumu reported in. 

_Yeah, not getting through that without your dirty trick, Iwa-kun._

_It's not dirty. It's called using the resources at your disposal._

_Mm. If you say so._

_Piss off._

"Are you ready to use my idea, or are you waiting until all of your soldiers are killed?" Iwaizumi asked Osamu, who shot him a filthy glower back. 

The wind smacked off the rocks with an audible slap. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some men behind them flinch.

"Fine," Osamu relented. 

It might've been Iwaizumi's imagination, but as they wove their way to the back lines, his footsteps seemed to stamp crevasses into the earth, hard and deep. 

They ordered a few soldiers to begin packing the flint they used to spark up Breath into the bag along with the power. 

"Will it ignite on impact?" Iwaizumi asked, gingerly picking up a bag. "I know we tested a few, but…"

"The flint used is very, very volatile," Osamu answered. "Why do you think we didn't prepare them in advance? We're lucky if they don't ignite while we're throwing them."

"Good to know," Iwaizumi responded dryly, putting the bag back down. 

A few runners with careful hands brought the powder to the other groups (thankfully, not too far away) while their initial attack kept the attention of Futakuchi's army on them. Iwaizumi kept an eye on the flow of the battle, and even though their lines were thinning out a little, it appeared that Futakuchi was kept on the defensive, for now. 

He pressed a hand to his mark and communicated the previously agreed-upon plan - break their formation, at all costs. If they managed to stay clumped together, with all of their shields up and everyone protected, it would take a lot more force to break through, force they didn't necessarily have. One thing on their side, however, was having the advantage of instant communication, a connection between all of their units. If co-ordinated right, they could scatter them before they figure out what was happening. 

Iwaizumi cast an eye to the right - large hunking rocks blocked his view, but he knew Akaashi was there, able to fill him in if something was going awry. It was the same for Ushijima, Ennoshita and Atsumu on the other side of the valley. Futakuchi, on the other hand, had blind spots. He couldn't be used to the chaos of battle, not at twenty-one. 

They split their remaining forces into groups of thirty, and Osamu had the nerve to nod at him as they moved apart, spreading out to encircle Futakuchi's miniature army. It would mean that they were thinner, but all they needed was a single breach, to attack from all sides at once. It also meant that they had nowhere to run.

Iwaizumi gave some last words of encouragement to his squad. It had been a while since he'd been in this position, but he found that the words came easily, although they were no longer as sure. Maybe it was only to his own ears. Maybe he was a better actor than he thought, as the cheer from the men seemed as viciously loud as ever. He couldn't even remember what he said. 

He remembered raising his sword and charging.

From there, he slid back into the warrior he was.

He was unsure if it was who he was, or who he used to be. Was there a difference? He wondered, using his shield hand to unhook a pouch from his belt, passing it to his other hand, sheathing his sword temporarily. 

Flinging his small pouch forwards into the shield line, Iwaizumi felt the explosion rush past his face, throwing up his shield to shelter himself from the blast. Shrapnel connected with the shield as he pressed forwards, disposing of any soldiers sprawled out near him, still reeling from the power of the powder. Iwaizumi didn't blame them for being shocked - apparently it hadn't spread as far South as Futakuchi's domain. 

Unfortunately for them, Iwaizumi's sword cut their shock short. 

The beat of the battle overturned his senses, his sight concentrating, expanding out, ears sharpened by adrenaline, any shout or scrape of weaponry that grew too close to him, any shimmering of air, any nearby piles of dust. Despite their initial, strong attack, another shield wall formed chillingly quickly, and any soldiers caught on the enemy side simply turned and fought. Iwaizumi took another pouch from his belt, scanning around.

Where was Futakuchi? 

He drove his armed right shoulder into the front of a shield, and the shield angled sideways. A gap appeared, and Iwaizumi fired the pouch into it as hard as he could. It crashed into a barely visible leg of a soldier behind the line, and Iwaizumi barely managed to raise his shield in time. The blast hit a trok before he could properly brace himself, and he was propelled backwards, smashing into another man behind him, flattening both of them. A spasm seized Iwaizumi's shoulder, and he gritted his teeth against it, rolling off of the poor guy he'd landed on. Extending a hand, he helped tug him to his feet, muttering a quick apology before spinning back around. 

The breach he'd created was already closing over, new spiked spearheads lowering to lie horizontal to the ground. Iwaizumi called for his men, sprinting forwards and slicing off a spearhead in one precise motion, counting on the soldiers behind him to follow his lead. They did, the members of the Form used to Ushijima's trained motions, the Osole coordinating with them. As much as Iwaizumi hated to admit it - he saw through a feint, slashing to where they would be, and the soldier's eyes widened, but they were too late - Osamu had taught them the importance of discipline. He figured that made sense - magickers were strong enough to run off on their own and survive. Ordinary mortals weren't. 

He hacked his way through, well-adjusted to the air shimmering with a Brick, feeling it pour against his shield and then dissipate. Iwaizumi knew a bare hand stretching out was a Fracturer, slamming the hilt of his sword down on their wrist, a crack resonating loud amongst the other clattering. Their scream didn't last long. 

Something briefly blotted out the light on the side of Iwaizumi's eye. 

Reacting fast, Iwaizumi recoiled back, head whipping towards it, fearing a squad of archers had managed to group together. There was nothing - only the distant shift of movement, further away from the battle than any soldiers should be. Suspicion clawed at Iwaizumi, and he followed it up to the highest crest of the hillside, where the sunlight was streaming down from.

A group of horses were outlined against the clouds, and Iwaizumi had to squint against the light to see clearer. One was slightly ahead of the rest. It was difficult to make out faces, but Iwaizumi could never forget the show of arrogance, the ripples of confidence emitting from his presence alone. His jaw tightened, kicking aside a clumsy thrust of a spear. 

Why the fuck was he here? 

They made their way down, and grew easier to look at. Iwaizumi saw their faces now - and him, as if there was any doubt to begin with. The outline of his dumb wavy sweeping hair was unmistakeable. 

Oikawa rode with his chin held high, shoulders straight and proud. He looked magnificent with his formal clothing, red cloak spilling from his broad shoulders, draped over his strong arms, keeping his white horse in check on a tight rein. 

If Oikawa had an encirclement on his head, Iwaizumi would’ve believed him to be a king. Iwaizumi shook his head. The last king was dead. Whatever Tobio grew up to be, it wouldn’t be that.

Of course he was up there. Iwaizumi gritted his teeth, blocking a Shifter's claws, shearing their forearm in the next motion. He wouldn’t sully himself with the petty soldiers. Why was he here? Had they predicted their move on Futakuchi? Had he been right about them having a way to predict the future after all? 

Iwaizumi tried to shake the unnecessary thoughts out of his head. He was here to fight. The extra thoughts would get him killed, no matter how heavily he depended on his reactive intuition. And yet, he couldn't stop himself from sparing another glance to the side, where the horses were carefully picking their way down the side of the steep hill. He could almost see the curve of his leg along the horse's flank, the smooth outline of his thigh. His eyes flicked up to Oikawa's face, and he inhaled sharply.

It was almost as if Oikawa was looking at him. But that was impossible - Iwaizumi was only one of dozens of soldiers in the field below him. It was a miracle he could even see him and his view was not blocked by a boulder. He heard a screech by his ear as helmet was nicked, and Iwaizumi cursed lowly, tearing his gaze away. He wouldn't be distracted by Oikawa. Not again. 

  
  


Oikawa shook off the prickling sensation of being watched, glancing away from the battle. Of course everyone's eyes were on him. It was natural. He could already get a faint smell of blood, and his throat closed over. He didn't think of how Hajime might be down there.

"Where's Futakuchi? They'll be coming for him." 

Kae's gaze swept over the scene. They were just beyond the outskirts, far away from the main core of the battle. As if sensing his unease, the horse frisked underneath him, and Oikawa slid his hands up the reins, resisting the urge to curse at the dumb beast. 

"Where do you think?"

"If he was smart," Oikawa said, scanning the outer rims. "He'd be in a place where he could oversee the fight and give direction to his captains quickly - but he always…" He narrowed his eyes, dropping down to where a lot of Osole soldiers were concentrated, and saw a shield flash overhead, crimson arching through the air. He sighed. He couldn’t make out faces, but that action... "But he's in the thick of it. He hasn't changed a single bit."

Kae hissed a breath out between her teeth, the two guards behind her blinking at the ferocity of it. "He couldn't have made this easier for us?"

"Trust me," Oikawa said dryly. "When you meet him, you'll understand that he never makes things easy."

"Bokuto, stay here," Kae instructed, eyes raking over the scene ahead of them. "This could easily turn in either direction, and I don't want you caught in the middle of it yet." 

"But I can help!" Bokuto protested, his hand hanging on the hilt of his sword. His horse skittered beneath him, as if picking up on his restless energy. "I can fight without my white, too!"

"No," Kae told him. "Wait here until Oikawa and I return with Futakuchi. Then you can fight - trust me, you will get your chance to show your strength." 

Oikawa's eyes slid back to Bokuto, whose lips were pinched outwards in a slight pout, but he didn't protest any more. He only gave a nod. The others pulled up next to him, determination shining in their expressions, as if he was the one who needed to be protected. Oikawa huffed out a breath, but he couldn't deny their resolve. This was the first chance they had to strike back at their oppressors. With a shiver, he was reminded of Atsumu's stone eyes.

Bokuto's response struck into his reminiscing. "Okay. I'll be here when you need me." 

"As expected," Kae said, then gestured down to the road in front of them, glancing at Oikawa. "Come on. We'll finish this as fast as possible."

She pushed forwards, leaning back in the saddle against the steepness of the hill. Oikawa felt the cold air brush against his cheek, skating under his chin, It felt like the touch of a ghost - and then it grew claws, icicles digging in and raking down his neck, turning his breath into snow within his throat. 

He swallowed, cold spit greasing the back of his mouth, and urged his horse into a trot, trailing after Kae. 

Iwaizumi's first glimpse of Futakuchi was a crimson-smeared cheek. 

It was like there was a pulse around him, invigorating the silver-clad soldiers. Iwaizumi identified it before he realised Futakuchi was the cause - Osamu had described him as 'a tall, smug asshole,' which Iwaizumi had thought wasn't very useful at the time. The man fighting in front of him, however, proved that that description was more than adequate. 

His glossy brown hair lifted and flung about his forehead as he spun around, angular face bright with a sly smile. There was a solid concentration in his gaze, a sort of casualness to his motion as he blocked a spearhead, directing it upwards, skidding over the top of his shield and his head. 

Iwaizumi ducked under a swing of a sword, sidestepping fast and slashing, feeling his blade carve perfectly into the exposed point between their gauntlet and upper arm plate. The soldier cried out, grabbing at his arm, blood draining from the wound, sword plummeting to the dirt. He wheeled backwards, but only got so far before Iwaizumi's sword found its true mark - the chink above their chestplate. 

He jerked back his sword, attempting to ignore the death gurgle reverberating through the steel, ringing in his ears. He had forgotten how it felt when someone's muscles convulsed around his sword, how he could feel each and every last frantic spasm of their body to eject the foreign object, to stay alive. 

Iwaizumi let his body take over, slamming his hilt into a helmet, disorientating the soldier and finishing it with a plunge of his sword underneath their armpit. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, he swallowed, twisting his blade to free it, fresh spurts of blood pouring over his blade. Why did his mouth feel so thick? They dropped, convulsing in the stony earth, screaming, and Iwaizumi lingered there for longer than he should. He knew he shouldn't look at their face. It was easier to think of them as faceless behind the helmets. 

They had deep brown eyes, framed in a square-jawed face. He would've been handsome if his facial muscles weren't constricting, tears and snot and spit sullying their gaping mouth, their cleft chin.

All the weight in Iwaizumi's body descended to his gut, a rotten, festering mold chewing on his insides. 

Then a laugh split the air, a voice tearing through the clash of metal. Iwaizumi's head snapped up, realising that in the flow, he'd been pushed closer to Futakuchi himself. 

"Hey, I always knew I was important, but really guys, this is just too much," Futakuchi laughed out, sweeping his shield sideways, the edge of it sinking halfway into someone's arm. "It's like as if you want my ego to get even bigger." 

He yanked it out roughly, swinging his sword around to shear the screaming soldier's neck in one clean motion. He bore his shield on his right arm and his sword in his left, but as Iwaizumi squinted, he didn't appear to be left-handed. The shield was his main weapon? An Osole soldier lumbered towards him, a beast of a man, veined muscles moving in a way that almost seemed like breathing. 

"Oh, shit," Futakuchi said, ducking as an armoured fist dented the front of his thin shield, then blasted through, sending scraps of metal flying out into the dirt. Futakuchi's hand darted up and held the man's arm there, stuck through the hole, as - wait. Iwaizumi's eyes narrowed. The bits of metal were rising up from the ground, the blown-out sides folding back into place, closing in around the arm - no, _through._ The man frantically tried to tug his arm back out, sweat dripping from his forehead, but it was too late - blood began pouring down the shield as his arm was slowly severed, metal piecing up the gap, flesh or no flesh. 

_Their wall can be rebuilt again and again._

Iwaizumi was so entranced by how the metal shot up he almost didn't hear the soldier’s strangled cries, uselessly yanking at his arm. It only worked on stripping off his skin, tearing muscle and dragging out the bone. Futakuchi leaned to the side, forcing them to stumble after him, attached to his shield. Was Futakuchi laughing? 

An arm dropped by his feet, and the soldier fell backwards, everything below the elbow gone, ending in a bloody tanglement of pink and red. Futakuchi's shield was whole again. He grinned, thrusting it outwards, drips of blood spraying off the ends. 

"Who wants some? Hm?" 

He hopped lightly over to the writhing man and held the end of his shield above his neck. Slamming it downwards, the man spasmed - once, twice, then was still. 

"Holy shit, that’s one unhinged son of a bitch," Iwaizumi murmured to himself, catching a spear shaft in his hand and yanking it forwards, dropping to kick the legs from underneath Futakuchi's soldier. 

He felt warmth sputter onto his face, and he glanced up to see Osamu's flail buried halfway into their head, their helmet crumpled inwards helplessly, shards of metal stuck in their skull. Their eyes rolled backwards, grey matter welling up from the sides of the spikes, and when Osamu hauled his flail back, they collapsed.

"Futakuchi," Osamu said, stepping over the body. "If we work together, we can capture him. Now."

Iwaizumi only nodded. He pressed forwards underneath the thunderous cracking of Osamu's chain, killing when necessary, severely wounding where he could. Oddly, he found that following Futakuchi was easier than he expected - usually, in battle, you were too busy checking that no enemies were around you, but Futakuchi left an unmistakable trail. 

There was always a difference of the remains left behind one that had to kill and one that wanted to. 

Futakuchi was clearly the latter. 

Chest plates were torn wide open, the mangled mess of half-together organs strung together by bits of what looked like raw red meat and veins, blood draining away and pooling in the crevesses of their bodies. Most of their expressions - if Iwaizumi could distinguish the expression on their faces - held utter shock, as if this type of death was something that happened to other people, that they couldn't bleed out from their arm being sliced off, that they would be the ones going home to their families. Some of them were Form members. Iwaizumi's stomach lurched, and he glanced up, away from the corpses. They hadn't deserved that end. 

"He's - he's not a magicker, is he?" Iwaizumi asked Osamu, who shook his head.

"Not that I know of. He's just like that." 

It was no easy feat to bust through Yaku's armour. Iwaizumi found himself wondering exactly how sharp and powerful his sword must be, the long one that glinted even under the grey sky, the one he wielded with devastating elegance. 

“By the Lady, why doesn’t someone kill him?” Iwaizumi muttered underneath his breath, avoiding the strewn intestines of another soldier Futakuchi had powered through. 

“He’s too much of an asshole to die,” Osamu said calmly, then gave a directed look across to Iwaizumi. “I think he needs another asshole to kill him. That's what we're here for.”

Spinning the end of his flail into someone’s helmet with a crunch, he glided into the fray. 

Someone stepped into Iwaizumi's path, hurtling a spear at him, and he hit the dirt, rolling out of the way, feeling the weight of his armour a little more. The wind seemed to tug at the corners of his body, attempting to rip his armour from his skin, always in the opposite direction to where he was trying to go. Regardless, he finished the contest quickly, an unexpected right hook smashing into their jaw with a thunk, Iwaizumi's metal gloves slowing the movement, but amplifying the force. 

Iwaizumi heard the sound of hooves, and turned to see Oikawa wading into the battle, mostly through the sea of Futakuchi's men. Some questioned him, holding up a spear in his way, but none of them lasted, lowering shortly afterwards. Iwaizumi had no idea what he was saying, but he was sure that he was being an asshole. He rode up to beside Futakuchi, who was just shoving another Osole soldier aside, thrashing into them with his entire weight behind his shield. Oikawa's mouth moved, and Futakuchi scowled, but he accepted Oikawa's hand, climbed up behind the saddle. 

Iwaizumi tensed, backstepping from a swing of an axe, his gaze still rooted on the way Oikawa's head turned, sweeping the fight with a detached coldness. Iwaizumi was certain that he'd see him. The grooves of his hilt dug into his palm, and he dodged a Brick, slamming a kick into their side, too aware of Oikawa, his body moving in an absent-minded rhythm. Despite his distractions, his sword recalled how to kill, and his blade was sinking into the soft flesh of a neck as Oikawa rode away in the corner of his eye. 

"Fuck." Osamu reappeared at Iwaizumi's side. "There's no fucking way we're catching up to a horse."

"It's alright." Iwaizumi found himself sounding strangely certain. "He won't leave his men. He'll be back. I know his type - he enjoys the fight too much to stand back and conduct from the sidelines."

"You better be right."

They had stopped behind a boulder, a temporary safety. 

Kae was waiting alone, standing beside her white horse. Futakuchi slid down off of the horse's rump, Oikawa following soon after. They hadn't spoken a word since Oikawa had stated that he needed to come with him, and Oikawa was just fine with that. The stench of death was tangy, indistinct scents all intermingling, and Oikawa wasn't looking forward to when he would be forced to use his Breath. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Futakuchi slung his shield over his back instead, seemingly for the sole purpose of being able to cross his arms over his chest. 

Now that Oikawa could see him properly, and not within the haze of fighting, he saw the elegant curves of his armour, the shimmering of metal melding into white in parts, iridescent patches flaring up when the sun struck it. He hadn't seen those distinctive markings in years, and it still made him catch his breath. 

"Alright." Futakuchi scanned them, looking almost bored. His chestnut hair was parted above dark, hollowed eyes, his slender chin lifted defensively. "What's the deal here? Why'd Oikawa drag me out here?"

Too bad such a beautiful work of art was worn by a prick.

"We're taking you back to the castle," Kae informed him. "Their intent is to capture or kill you, I'm not sure, but you'll be safer farther away from this battle."

"Not without my men, you're not. We're killing these assholes who tried to capture me and then we're leaving."

Kae sighed deeply, the corners of her mouth depressing. "I am sure your captains are more than capable of handling the situation-"

"But I am, too. And what if a load of them split off and come after us, huh? What then?"

Feeling his face darken, Oikawa took a moment to keep his expression in check before rebutting him. “That might be so, but-“

He was interrupted by a soldier running up to them, panting hard. He turned small, accusing eyes towards Futakuchi. "You…. bastard. Couldn't you have asked them to give me a ride too?"

"You're here, aren't you?" Futakuchi shot back, slinging a hand on his hip. He gestured lazily in the space between Oikawa and the newcomer. "Oikawa, Kae, this is Kamasaki. My new bodyguard."

Oikawa tilted his head back, examining the guard, who was currently doubled over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “What happened to the old one, Futakuchi?"

"He died." Futakuchi raised his eyebrows. “And aren’t you missing something?”

“My apologies, Futakuchi- _sama."_ Oikawa spoke through a tense jaw. "I see you’re as...lively as ever. A pleasure to see you again.” 

Futakuchi dove forwards into a sweeping, exaggerated bow. “As it is to see you. Glad to see you’re still alive. Really, this is an awful lot of fuss over me.” 

His bodyguard rolled his eyes. "He's not worth it. Should've let 'im die."

"That's a good attitude for a bodyguard to have,” Oikawa commented. As if he didn’t fully understand it. 

"Hey, look, maybe if he wasn't such a jerk I'd want to protect his life."

"Why are you here then?" Futakuchi drawled out. "Piss off already."

"Your mother pays me too well."

"Hey-"

"Futakuchi," Kae cut in, seemingly aware that they would bicker on if not interrupted. "We need you to listen to us. We can win this as fast as possible with the least amount of casualties."

"Hoo, so that's why you pulled me out here?" Futakuchi blew out a breath. He reached back, tugging his shield from his back, securing the strap around his forearm. "Your input is appreciated, but I know how to win a battle already. Get off my dick and I'll get back to you about your alliance, alright?"

"Futakuchi," Oikawa said lowly. "You need to pull back some of your soldiers. They're counting on you overextending yourself and splitting up. Right now, you're still on the defensive, but you need to switch to offensive action carefully. If you operated Brickers as a unit-"

Futakuchi waved a hand, as if attempting to vaporise his words mid-air. "Yeah, yeah, I know-"

He began turning away, and Oikawa noted where the strap connecting his arm to his shield was. His Breath whipped past his lips, lashing out through the leather, the shield bottom thudding to the ground. It began falling forwards, and as Futakuchi reacted, making a desperate grab for it, Oikawa lunged forwards a step, slipping his dagger hilt out into his palm. Futakuchi froze, Oikawa's dagger at his neck, one hand extended out. His shield hit the earth. 

"I may be older than you," Oikawa said softly, pressing his mouth near to his ear. "But I daresay I know a few more things. I'd advise you to listen for once."

His gaze cut over to the bodyguard, who had drawn his sword, glaring darkly at Oikawa. 

Oikawa winked at him. "You need to become better at your job. This was too easy.” 

He saw the man's jaw tense, striding forwards. Oikawa pushed the edge a little closer to Futakuchi's windpipe. 

"You're making some bold assumptions, aren't you?" Oikawa asked him softly, watching as he faltered only a step away, veins showing out on his reddened temples. 

"You wouldn't dare to anger -"

"Oikawa," Kae chided, voice cool, detached. "Try not to threaten our possible allies."

She made no move to stop Oikawa. Her gaze wandered over to Futakuchi. "You are a possible ally, are you not?"

Unbothered, his eyes cut down to the dagger. "You won't kill me. My mother -"

Futakuchi's threat was sliced off by Oikawa shifting the dagger's side in deeper under his chin. Into his skin. Spots of blood welled up and then spread out on the steel, deliberate and measured. Futakuchi growled - a full, low, rumbling growl. 

“Yes, I’m a possible fucking ally and my soldiers are being killed because I’m not there, so I’d appreciate if you…” He gingerly lifted a hand, placing it on the flat of Oikawa’s dagger and pushing it away. Oikawa allowed him to. “Thanks.”

Stepping back, Oikawa sheathed his dagger in his sleeve. He had acted hastily, and cursed himself. It might damage their chances of getting metal from the mines, or even of an alliance in the first place. 

But he _loathed_ having to indulge the brat. 

He upturned his forearms, pushing back his sleeves. His daggers gilted against his shirt, reflecting the grey clouds overhead. 

“No hard feelings?” Oikawa smiled warmly at him, and Futakuchi’s expression soured. “You Katachians and your weird ass traditions. Just bow like everyone else.” 

He performed a short, stiff bow. Popping up again, his unease had been completely glossed over, instead plastering on a half-smile that was more smirk than actual smile. 

“No hard feelings,” he assured him, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “Let us patch this up even more - how about you treat me to a drink when this is over with?”

The fucker winked at Oikawa. Oikawa smiled, folding his hands behind his back. Just in case he tried to stab him again. The _audacity._ The resilience of Futakuchi’s entitlement never failed to amaze him. 

“A little bit of advice, Futakuchi- _sama_. Stay in your own age range, and your own league.” 

“Is that a no?” 

“It’s most definitely a no.” 

“Shame,” Futakuchi commented, raising a palm as he picked up his shield, clucking his tongue at the broken strap. “Guys who try to kill me are hot. Even old ones.” 

And before Oikawa could even attempt to formulate an answer, he’d leapt down again, calling for another shield. 

“Maybe that will help negotiations,” Kae commented, patting Oikawa on the shoulder. 

Oikawa ground his teeth. “For the high price of my suffering, it better."

"Hm…" Kae traced her chin with a finger. "Perhaps-"

"No," Oikawa said flatly. "I refuse to socialise with him. Never. And if he tries to flirt with me again I will cut his plagued tongue out, mines or no mines."

Kae looked like she was stifling a laugh, but diverted her attention to the battle beneath them. "We'd better make sure there's some of Futakuchi left to barter with. Come on. We shall indulge him, for now, and end this as quickly as possible."

Despite himself, Oikawa felt his lips quirk in interest. "Bokuto?"

"Bokuto." 

"Bokuto, please do the honours."

Kae raised a finger and drew a line across the battlefield. "Try not to hurt Futakuchi's men if possible. Ideally, they'd be able to pull back, but Osole chose the ambush location well. If any Osole are on this side, we’ll pick them off.”

“I can do that.” Bokuto nodded, guiding his horse forwards with a gentle rein. "Let me get a bit closer."

An unnatural intensity surrounded him, and Oikawa felt power being gathered, in such concentration that the back of his teeth started shivering, a pressure dragging behind his eyes. He had a horrible feeling that he didn’t want to be too close to Bokuto when he started focusing his power properly. 

Kae’s eyes narrowed, tracking the explosions across the field as they moved closer. “I don’t like this. The fact that they have powder from the North…” 

“Stand back,” Bokuto instructed. 

Oikawa did without hesitation. 

Bokuto swung a thick leg over the horse's back, feet thudding to the ground. Then he stuck both of his arms straight out in what would be a strange, comedic manner if it wasn't accompanied by the pressure of a thunderstorm around him, the heavy feeling in the air before rain lashes down. Oikawa shivered, as if feeling the cold water pounding against his skin. He glanced across to Kae, who didn't seem to have any such reservations - her eyes were glinting, staring at the back of Bokuto's neck as if his power was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. The ground rumbled, as if the lingering spirits of deities were responding to their power, stirring under the dirt, remembering their glory days. 

Oikawa shuddered again as Bokuto began concentrating. 

Iwaizumi smashed his head into someone's nose, a burst of blood splaying over his face, dripping off of the helmet and into his eyes. Cursing, he tore it off, using the dented side to give the soldier another bash for good measure. She dropped instantly, and it crossed Iwaizumi's mind just how annoyed Yaku was going to be if he lost his helmet. Fuck it, it was for keeping him alive and that's what it had done. 

_Hajime, do you feel that?_

Iwaizumi had to forfeit his shield for a moment to press it over his mark to speak back to Akaashi. 

_Feel what?_

_The power… it's not like a regular magicker's. I can't explain it, but I think we're in trouble. You're closer than I am to the source - look West. Do you see anything?_

Iwaizumi couldn't see shit through the patches of people fighting, so he backed up, enough to be on the outskirts of the main line, enough to get a clearer picture of where Akaashi had directed him to look. 

His stomach caved in. He was too far away to be sure of faces, but that white hair couldn't be mistaken for anyone else. And… he knew how Oikawa carried himsef, a little way beyond. His fingers dug into his skin as he answered Akaashi.

_Akaashi, Bokuto’s here. With Oikawa and Kae, I think._

_What?_

_I don’t know how, but he is._

_Hold on - I’m coming to you._

Ushijima’s voice broke into their conversation.

_I’m coming too._

_Why?_

_Kita has full control of our unit. And if it really is Bokuto, neither of you will be able to kill him._

_We aren't killing him! Hajime, I'm coming. Ushijima, if you dare touch him, there will be consequences._

_You are biased. This is a war, and he's an enemy._

_I don't care._

_You aren't making the right decision, Akaashi._

_Guys, just get over here._

Swallowing, Iwaizumi broke further away from the main line, heading to where he knew Akaashi and Ushijima were coming from, midway through the roughly semi-circle shaped line where the forces clashed. He knew that Bokuto's white sprouted from his hair, extending all the way down to the middle finger of his right hand, swamping his whole right arm, shoulder, bleeding over one side of his neck. And yet, Iwaizumi had never asked him in their brief conversations exactly what kind of magicker he was. 

Iwaizumi’s stomach plunged as he watched his arms lower down carefully, only able to catch snatches of his movements as more and more soldiers cluttered up his line of sight. He nimbly sidestepped a thrust of a spear, sparking his blade off of their armour, forcing him back. His next attack cleaved into the soft gap between metal on their legs, and they dropped to one knee with a cry of pain. Iwaizumi pressed on, tasting his own salty sweat in his mouth. He didn't want to fight - or kill - Bokuto. He wasn't sure if he could stop Ushijima. 

Then he felt the pressure at the back of his neck, and he realised that they couldn't. Overwhelming strength… he'd read about this. Pushing air downwards rather than to the side….

He saw Akaashi, who was staring towards the West. The wind ruffled his hair, splatters of blood covering his jaw, daggers clenched in white hands.

Iwaizumi raced towards Akaashi, who didn't move. As he drew closer, he saw that his expression was one of horror, eyes forced wide by the wind, his mouth open. 

"Bokuto is a Skydropper?" Iwaizumi demanded. "You knew that?"

"I… I did," Akaashi admitted, the words falling heavy from his lips. "I had hoped he wouldn't… how did he….?"

His mouth creased up, lips pulling tightly over his teeth. "Bokuto-san…"

"Fuck," Iwaizumi cursed, dragging Akaashi along by the wrist, out of the thickness of the battle. Akaashi gave no resistance. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Ushijima approached them, smashing the flat of his sword into a Bricker whose Brick simply dissipated uselessly against his chest. "We can handle him, Iwaizumi," he assured him, halting a few steps away, his chest heaving but his words steady. "One person cannot change the outcome of a battle, no matter how strong they are. However, it would be good to crush him now." 

"If I can get to him - if he can see me - I might be able to stop him," Akaashi said, his words warbling. "He might listen to me." He spiralled around to Ushijima. "Please," he said. "Don't kill him. I can talk to him and remove him from the battle."

Ushijima frowned, eye casting over the situation, weighing up their resources. Iwaizumi could almost see the logic trying to click together between his temples. 

"Can we take him out with archers?"

"That won't work. They'll drop to the ground under this sort of pressure. Let me talk to him." Akaashi's voice was becoming increasingly desperate, and he suspected that it wasn't because of the building heaviness in the air. Iwaizumi felt it too, like a stickiness surrounding him, moving through oil, oil that was being compressed down on him, his breathing becoming laboured. If this kept up, Akaashi wouldn't make it as far as Bokuto. 

Iwaizumi turned to Ushijima. "Wakatoshi, can you resist a Skydropper?"

"I estimate that I would be slowed. Not stopped."

"Akaashi, go with him. Try to get to Bokuto, to speak with him."

"Can Ushijima-san -"

"I can." Ushijima wasn't looking at them, his body clearly under strain, but his back was straight, his fingers clenched into fists. "I'm stronger than him." 

The pressure increased, and Iwaizumi was forced to his knees. Around him, soldiers crumpled under the weight of their armour, some laying flat to the earth. Distant groans drifted through the air, as well as more than a few choice curses. Iwaizumi noticed that the effect didn't extend to most of Futakuchi's soldiers - several had been trapped on this side, but those who weren't were hacking at the weakened Osole within reach. Iwaizumi grit his teeth. He couldn't let this happen. He wouldn't allow a slaughter of his men. Think. What could he use?

The plan opened up in his mind. Ushijima and Akaashi's units opposite his and Osamu's - and the one in charge of the middle squad was… Iwaizumi scanned the area, hoping. 

He spotted a mop of blonde, and for once, it was welcome. He didn’t dare take his hand off the ground to call him using his mark. 

"Atsumu!" Iwaizumi called out, hating how little his voice carried. He sucked in as much air as he could manage, and shouted again, towards Atsumu's back. "ATSUMU!" 

"What, fuck, what?" Atsumu was on his hands and knees, barely able to angle his head back to glower at Iwaizumi. "What do you want? We're in a bit of bother here, if you hadn't noticed."

"Amplify Ushijima's abilities," Iwaizumi urged him. He met Ushijima's eyes. 

“Why-“

“DO IT!” Iwaizumi bellowed. “NOW!” 

Ushijima grabbed Akaashi, hoisting him up onto his shoulders, and began running. Atsumu closed his eyes, focusing, palm splayed out in front of him. Ushijima’s stride became longer, faster, his expansive neck no longer bent under the weight of Bokuto’s force. Iwaizumi felt a gush of relief. Astumu did come in useful sometimes. Holding his breath, he carefully guided his power to his palms sunk into the earth, then Bricked, blowing him upright. Teetering backwards, he managed to snatch back his balance, barely. It was like attempting to do a sit-up with a goat on his chest. He tried to shift his feet forwards, and realised that if he lifted one foot off of the ground, his other leg would probably crumple under the weight. 

Thanks to half of the battlefield being on the ground, Iwaizumi had a pretty decent view of what was happening, much clearer than he would've otherwise. He saw dirt blast up from the ground ahead of them, and frowned, struggling to breathe properly in the hardened air. How was he doing that? 

Beyond Bokuto, he saw blurred figures, but with their red and black cloaks, the boldness of the colours and stances, it could only be Oikawa and Kae. Iwaizumi's fist closed tight around his sword. After a trok, he sheathed it with some effort, aware that being incapcitated with a sharp object in his hand was probably not the best situation to be in. Movement. Iwaizumi's gaze shot back over to Bokuto, who let out a yell, a deep cry that almost seemed to shatter through rocklike air. 

He closed his hands into fists, then drove them apart. 

The ground split in front of them. 

Ushijima reacted fast - faster than Iwaizumi would've been capable of, and jumped, managing to land on the other side. His pace was barely affected. 

Bokuto raised his hands, then drew them downwards again. 

Further up, another fissure began forming - stretching, widening, spurts of earth being thrown up out of the air as if a hammer was pounding against it over and over, demanding that it open. Iwaizumi saw Bokuto beyond, only a faceless figure with two hands outstretched. 

Ushijima leapt again, and the ground kept moving.

They were going to almost make it. Almost. Iwaizumi saw that as clearly as he saw how Ushijima's arm tensed, ready to throw Akaashi. 

He had to do something. 

Iwaizumi ripped his shield off of his arm, holding it flat with one hand and concentrating, the other pressing hard against the edge. He traced the path with the split heartbeat he had. The angle had to work. Releasing a Brick out of the palm of his hand, he pushed the shield, as powerful a shove as he could manage. Shooting forwards, the shield blurred, streaked underneath Ushijima's feet, then hit the side of the chasm, lopsided but there - over halfway buried in the earth, steady. A falling Ushijima's hand caught on the side of it. 

Iwaizumi felt the kickback instantly, something lurching inside of him, a sensation that made his stomach boil, bitter bile rising to the back of his throat. He staggered backwards, almost tripping over another soldier flattened to the ground.

Iwaizumi's shield bent under their weight, and his heart leapt as they swung underneath it, carried by their momentum, but Ushijima had no time for hesitation, no time for indecisiveness. He lifted Akaashi and helped him climb onto the shield, sloping all the more with each passing instant, the side slowly sliding free of the chasm wall. Akaashi jumped up over the side, instantly turning around and dropping down his hand to Ushijima. The shield was almost vertical now, at a shear angle that reminded Iwaizumi of a broken, sinking ship. 

Please, he willed it, wanting to run over but knowing he wouldn't get there in time to do anything useful. Just a few more troks. 

Ushijima tensed, both of his hands hanging onto the side, then lunged upwards, reaching a hand out. The earth cracked and the shield came loose, dirt plummeting downwards as Akaashi's hand clasped firmly around Ushijima's wrist. Only the shield fell. Iwaizumi sighed as Akaashi pulled Ushijima up with some difficulty. 

The chasm was still growing wider, and Iwaizumi feared for how they were going to get back. The pressure piling onto his shoulders, his palms hit the earth, barely able to move his fingers. He grunted with frustration, praying that Akaashi managed to reason with Bokuto. He could already hear the cries coming closer - the radius of the pressure must be decreasing, allowing them to advance on their weakened allies. They wouldn't win like this.

He felt a heavy gaze, and he raised his head to see Atsumu staring at him. The power seared the backs of Iwaizumi's eyes, and hurriedly, Iwaizumi squeezed them shut, praying the whiteness didn't show through. He had better control of his powers now, right? He shouldn't be … his thoughts derailed into an anxious streak as he realised Oikawa had said nothing about the white going away once he learned control. He forced himself to calm down. Either way, that stunt wasn't possible for anyone but a magicker. Either way, he had to deal with the consequences later. 

Once he opened his eyes, Atsumu was still watching him. 

“Nice throw,” he said, face blank, eyes dark. 

Iwaizumi swallowed dryly, blinking fast. “Thanks.” 

Atsumu rotated his head back around. Iwaizumi barely managed to tug in a breath. 

Akaashi had never felt fear like this.

As he pulled Ushijima up, his whole body was shaking, and it wasn't from the exertion of Ushijima's weight, or their near death, or even the battle. It was because he had no idea what to say to Bokuto, for once in his life. He could always measure his reactions and choose his best words. 

Now, there were no best words. 

They weren't far from Bokuto. Ushijima knocked a few enemies aside as they pushed forwards, but they were much more thinly spread on this side, mostly locked in individual battles. Some soldiers took one glance at Ushijima and looked away. He distantly realised that most probably were retreating as far away from the widening gap as much as possible. Akaashi didn't take in much after that. He was too busy watching how Bokuto's arms were vibrating, how he could still feel the earth shudder beneath him, an awful cracking echoing at his back. He wondered dimly if it would catch up to him, if it should catch up to him and drink him whole, like his choices. 

To his delight - intermingled with dread - Bokuto's arms lowered, and he leaned forwards, trying to see better. "Is that you, Akaashi?"

"Yes!" Akaashi called back, a great relief pouring through him. "It's me - Ushijima, hang back."

"You're going alone? But if he attacks you-"

"He won't," Akaashi replied, feeling his inhales tear at his throat. He ran faster, Ushijima still keeping pace beside him. 

“I told you, he won’t harm me,” Akaashi said, giving Ushijima a little push towards agreement, simmering down his suspicion. True, Ushijima was more resistant than most, but not immune. Akaashi saw his pace slow. 

“If you're certain.” 

“I am.”

“Call if you need me.” 

Akaashi nodded. He wouldn't.

He ran faster on legs that didn't feel like his, and Bokuto's figure sharpened, lowering his arms to his sides. The ground stopped moving, the air thinning back out. Akaashi still couldn't breathe easier, despite the pressure rising back up, releasing the tension on his lungs and shoulders.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw soldiers close in around him. 

Bokuto swept his arms out in a big circle, a clear sign to keep back. Behind him, Akaashi saw Oikawa put out an arm to stop Kae from striding forwards. He gave Akaashi no indication of recognising him, no nod or gesture. But he was giving him time with Bokuto. Akaashi could ask no more of him than that. Kae looked uneasy about it, but Oikawa spoke briefly to her, and she relaxed somewhat. It didn't matter. Akaashi refocused on Bokuto and concentrated on running as hard as he could. 

“Hey - it’s okay, it’s okay guys,” Bokuto reassured the guards on either side of him. They looked uncertain, but heeded Bokuto's words, keeping a steady distance between him and them. 

Akaashi didn't slow down, instead slamming right into Bokuto, who was barely shifted by the force, catching Akaashi by the elbows. His palms were unnaturally hot, as if all his blood had boiled up towards the surface of his skin. 

"Akaashi?" Bokuto peered at him, as if checking he was real. "Why are you here? Kae said we were fighting the Osole, and your letter said -"

"I know what my letter said," Akaashi rushed out, shame flooding his chest. "I - I didn't want to tell you that… I'd failed. I failed to stop the merger."

He felt Bokuto's thumb sink into the flesh of his inner elbow. He had no idea of the expression on his face, keeping his gaze lowered to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, where white was spilling out over his skin, visible beyond the fabric of his shirt. It looked beautiful, accenting the slivers of shadows shifting with his muscles. Akaashi swallowed hard. 

"I can't…" Akaashi closed his eyes. "I can't do anything - but, please, don't hurt them. I didn't think it'd come to this. I didn't think it'd be war. I didn’t think you’d be here."

At Bokuto's silence, Akaashi covered his face with his hands, praying the pressure didn't become overwhelming, praying the tears didn't come. "I'm sorry."

He really was useless. 

Bokuto's hands slid up his arms, resting on his shoulders. Akaashi felt his breath on the back of his hands as he spoke, knowing he was leaning down. "Why are you still with them, Akaashi? Aren't they killing people like me?"

"I -"

Akaashi had no answer. Because it was all he'd ever known? Because he wasn't strong enough to leave his family, no matter their beliefs? Because he was a coward who couldn't decide on the right thing to do? Bokuto's fingers gently wound around the sides of his palms, and with a deep breath, Akaashi dropped his hands, his cheeks still dry. 

"Come with me," Bokuto urged him, taking his hands in his. "I'm sure Kae will let you stay with me - you wouldn't even be taking up any extra room that way! We can even take Yaku and Iwaizumi and Ennoshita and whoever else is willing to come, then we can fight the Osole together. How does that sound?"

"I can't - I have a duty to the Form…"

"The ones trying to kill us right now?" Bokuto's eyes were wide, and Akaashi wished he could argue with him. "You teamed up with the bad guys."

"We - we had no other choice," Akaashi said desperately, gripping Bokuto's forearm. "Please understand - she's going about this the wrong way. History is going to repeat itself if she takes control, I know it. It's a cycle that's going to repeat itself…."

"But how do you know that for sure?" Bokuto asked, and Akaashi's stomach dropped at the simple question he couldn't answer. 

Bokuto's expression was so earnest, and Akaashi felt like the worst person to ever exist. 

“I thought you promised me... you’d try to change things?” Bokuto's lips warbled, but only for an instant. "I don't understand Akaashi - you explained things to me, but I still don't get why you're fighting with them. You could just come with me."

Akaashi's shoulders slumped. "I can't."

"Why not?"

Akaashi inhaled. "Because it feels like I'm running away. There are still good people in the Form, Bokuto. I believe it can be redeemed still, and if I leave now, the chances of that are diminished. Hajime needs all the help he can get to reform it, and I can't just run away to leave him battle on his own." 

Understanding settled into Bokuto's features. "So - what do you want to do?"

Akaashi gulped down a breath, voice low, as if he didn’t know the answer already, as if he couldn’t see the resolve hammered into Bokuto’s face even without his powers. Bokuto swallowed, then suddenly lurched forwards, kissing Akaashi square on the mouth. Akaashi kissed back, as deeply as he could, savouring the scratch of Bokuto's stubble against his chin, the tight muscles of his neck against his palm. It was the same type of kiss Bokuto gave him when Akaashi was returning to the Form. He knew why. 

As he pulled back, Akaashi filled in his words, like he always did. "Maybe we should stop seeing each other."

The logic of it fractured in his throat like flint. He could still taste Bokuto on his mouth as he watched Bokuto shake his head, eyebrows creasing up. 

"Not forever! Just for now…. because -" Bokuto broke off, looking introspective. "You're with the bad guys, but you're not a bad guy. So if you're trying to change them, they can't think you're a good guy. And if you're still with me, they'll know you're good, and won't trust you."

Akaashi couldn't help but give a sad smile. "I'm happy that you think that."

"We'll both give it our best shot," Bokuto announced, squeezing Akaashi's hand. "I love you. Come back to me safe, okay?"

"Yeah… I love you too," Akaashi whispered back, unable to quite say the words as confidently as Bokuto through the mud in his throat. He knew they weren't properly breaking up. He knew what he said was true, he couldn't abandon his home just like that for one of Bokuto's whimsical ideas. He couldn't just give up everything they'd built and be with Bokuto. 

But by the Lady, he wanted to. 

He gave Bokuto one last kiss. “Please, stay safe.” 

Bokuto's dejection was almost enough to rip Akaashi's heart in two. Feeling a warmth bloom over his fingers, he glanced downwards. Blood was beginning to seep through Bokuto’s palms. Akaashi inhaled sharply. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.” 

"I can do more-"

Akaashi gripped his hands, wishing pain was an emotion, wishing he could muffle the agony Bokuto must feel right now. 

"Please," he asked him, smoothing his thumb over his palms, through the sticky pools of crimson. "Release them. For your own sake."

Anguish carved its way into Bokuto's face, and he closed up his hands, Akaashi's fingers slipping through. "People will die if I don't. More people than should die."

"People will die if you do," Akaashi insisted, and uncertainty, a beautiful purple, wove its way into Bokuto's emotions. 

Akaashi felt an abrupt jerk on his shoulder, and suddenly he was being manhandled away from Bokuto, the two guards apparently having decided to step in. 

"Bokuto will do what he needs to, won't you?" One of the guards, who had the distinctive glimmer of scales on their forearms, peeking out from folded up sleeves, directed the query back at Bokuto. 

"Akaashi-!"

"We won't harm him," the other said, almost boredly, shoving at Akaashi's chest, causing him to stumble back. "You just focus on suppressing the enemy, yeah? We're just going to guide him back to his side." 

Feeling even more conflict squirm through Bokuto's psyche, Akaashi curled up his fists, hesitant to draw his daggers. If he fought back, Bokuto would have to choose between him and them. It was unlikely he could fight both a Shifter and Akaashi suspected a Fracturer, as well. Bokuto would blunder in to save him, and then what? The possibility of them dying was high enough, and if he killed his allies, he couldn't return to Kae. He couldn't come with Akaashi either. Where would he go?

"It's okay," Akaashi reassured him, shooting the two guards a narrow glare. 

One of their hands was outstretched to push him again, but it faltered and dropped. A new emotion - wariness - arose, and Akaashi felt a pulse of satisfaction. 

"I'll go back." Akaashi calmly wiped Bokuto's blood off on his shirt end. 

He looked up at Bokuto, and saw telltale glints in his big eyes. Akaashi thought he was good at controlling his emotions, he really did, and that's why he was given the gift of altering others’, but something about the hopelessness in Bokuto's face - Bokuto, who always told him that they would be together someday, Bokuto, who showed Akaashi his love in every possible way - standing there with bleeding hands and sunken shoulders -

A sob billowed up out of Akaashi, and he turned away, impressing a hand over his mouth. He could taste the iron of Bokuto's blood, feel the flakiness of the last remnants as they rubbed off on his lips. Was this how Hajime had felt? How Daichi had felt? 

The others kept close to him. Too close. Glancing back, Akaashi saw Bokuto watching him leave, his posture flimsy, deflated. Soon, he wouldn't be able to see anything but a distant figure.

And as Akaashi expected, when they were far enough away, he felt four sharp objects press to his lower back, a dark voice in his ear whispering, "Did you think we'd let you go that easily?"

"No," Akaashi answered, gaze sliding across to the other guard. 

They looked hesitant about their partner's actions - grey eyes fluttering back behind him, careful of another possible gaze on them. Perfect. He wouldn't even have to draw his daggers.

"Keep walking." 

He was shoved forwards, feeling their claws sink deeper into the leather, slicing like hot iron. Akaashi allowed himself a small smile. They were afraid of Bokuto - and after that display, who wouldn't be? But they really shouldn't be too concerned about Bokuto, Akaashi thought, readying himself. 

He dropped abruptly, bending one knee and sticking one leg out straight. Twirling, pushing with his hands to sweep the legs out from under the clawed Shifter.

He thumped out flat on his back, Akaashi's knee pushing down on his sternum a moment later. The Shifter spat up at him, a hand curving towards him, but Akaashi dodged to the side, his hand catching his wrist and pinning it to his neck, resting most of his weight behind it.

Leaning over him, Akaashi spoke, his heartrate and voice steady. “Do you want to try that again? I think, if we try hard enough, I'm sure we'll be able to catch Bokuto's attention.” 

The Fracturer started. "As if he wouldn't take our side-"

"Shut up," the Shifter hissed back, glowering up at Akaashi with bird-like eyes. "Fine, you can live for a little longer. We'll kill you all anyways."

"I wish you the best of luck with that," Akaashi replied, straightening up, and dusting down his front.

He pretended not to notice the growl coming from the Shifter. The other one shuffled their feet, but their glower was still there, an ugly crunching of their nose and mouth. Akaashi did a quick sweep of their emotions - appropriately irresolute. He could afford not to fear. 

Walking away, he tried to convince himself to stop sensing Bokuto's emotions, but he couldn't. It wouldn't make him hurt any less. Akaashi was barely aware of Ushijima rejoining his side, of the Osole and Form rising to their feet. 

He would change this. 

"What was that about?" Kae demanded as Bokuto trailed back to them, his shoulders folded inwards, looking like half their usual width. 

He rubbed his hands over his face, leaving streaks of red, seemingly too caught up in his own head to realise. "I broke up with my boyfriend," he said heavily, each word appearing to be a great effort. 

"And he was on their side, but dating a magicker?" Kae clicked her tongue. "You're better off not dating a hypocrite."

Oikawa's chest felt tight. Instead of focusing on that, he approached Bokuto, tapping his shoulder. 

"Open your mouth. I'll heal your hands," he said, as gently as he could manage. 

Bokuto only let out an awful groan, but he did break his lips apart. His hands were still on his cheeks, and they shook even before the pain of healing hit him. 

_"Cessare,"_ Oikawa murmured. He reached up, taking Bokuto by the wrists and tugging them downwards. He couldn't speak, but he knew Bokuto got the message. Enough time for grief later.

Bokuto refused to hide his sadness, his eyes lagging behind where everyone was focused, as if stuck in a memory, in a loop of remembering. They mounted quickly, able to survey the outcome of Bokuto's actions better with the extra boost of height. Kae sent the Fracturer down briefly to scope out the consequences.

Oikawa's eyes caught on Akaashi and Ushijima battling their way back to their main line, and he felt a river of disquiet drain down through him. Did he do the right thing, allowing Akaashi to speak to Bokuto? His teeth slid across the inside of his cheek, uneasy. He knew that restraining or killing Akaashi would've led to Bokuto becoming resentful and upset, and he had stated as much to Kae, who couldn't argue the point. But was that really a good thing? Absently, Oikawa ran his thumb over the textured leather of the reins, thinking. 

Nobody talked. 

The fracturer ran back to them. "Uh, we have a problem. The chasm split the battle in half, and we're winning on this side, but Futakuchi is on the other side."

Kae's head whipped around to him, strands of her inky hair falling down over her ears. “What do you mean, Futakuchi’s on the other side?”

Oikawa sighed deeply. “I told you, he’s an awkward little shithead. He wants to be in the middle of the battle at all times. I wouldn't be surprised if he saw what was happening and lept to the other side in order to kill more."

“Well. Time to go and get him.”

"Again?" Irritation ran through Oikawa. “Did you not bring a guard to do these sort of tasks? Or perhaps two?”

He glanced back at the Shifter and Fracturer, making his point thoroughly clear. Kae was not moved. 

“He knows you and you know him, we have the greatest chance of him listening to you. So you're coming with me."

Oikawa felt his jaw tense, but he didn’t press further. 

Sighing, he examined the gash across the earth - he'd have to ride around it, around a giant rock to the side too. He clicked his tongue, eyes sliding across to the rest, weighing up their conditions. Bokuto was slumped in the saddle, and looked like he would be in that position for a while longer. Kae's posture was rigid, but the spurt of energy Oikawa had glimpsed before they'd left had been worn by three days of hard riding, and the skin on her knuckles was cracking. 

However, the Shifter and Fracturer Kae had brought - Oikawa hadn't bothered learning their names - seemed to still be in a fairly good way, their expressions sharp and movements crisp. The Shifter was surprisingly flimsy, but Oikawa saw their white, covering a large section of their neck, and, probing a little bit farther, recognised their power with a dull admiration. Perhaps their lack of aura aided them in hiding previously amongst the normal people. 

Oikawa envied them. 

"You, and you," he instructed, staring down each in turn. "You're coming with us."

"Only one," Kae said, and Oikawa gritted his teeth. "Pardon my asking, but if Futakuchi is our main priority shouldn't all of us be going to fetch and protect him?"

Kae shook her head. "Down there, they don't have a good view of the battle. Up here, we can help you out. Bokuto can direct his power to where you need it most."

"Don't we only need Bokuto and one guard to aid him, then?" Oikawa asked, keeping his voice calm. 

"I can do it," the Fracturer spoke up, clopping forwards. "If we're on horseback, he'll probably be better use to you guys."

They angled their head towards the other, and Kae gazed at them a trok before dipping her head forwards. "Fine. Keep an eye on Bokuto." 

"Of course."

The smell was much stronger this time. 

As they cantered around the chasm, Oikawa had to keep his grip on the reins tight, his eyes watering a little from the carnage. He breathed slowly. He had vomited before, when it had only been a group of merchants. This time, he could handle it. He could deal with the gloopy taste of maggot-ridden flesh congesting the back of his throat. It felt so real - it seeped down the sides of his tongue, and he almost retched, sacrificing some of his senses as he rammed down his Breath, suppressing it as much as he could. The mass clogging his throat became lighter, the sickening in his gut fading, but he still felt like he was defeated. These people were dying. The least he could do was acknowledge it. 

Lurching forwards in the saddle, Oikawa gripped the horse's mane on instinct, steadying himself as it stumbled forwards. He cursed - he knew it had been a risk to bring the horses onto this kind of unsteady terrain, but for once in his damn life, he'd hoped that luck would run in his favour.

It went down on one knee, and Oikawa hissed out a curse, drawing his feet from the stirrups and swinging a leg over to dismount swiftly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an arrow sticking out of his horse's chest, right between the chinks. Lucky shot. He groaned, drawing his daggers. Looks like he was doing this on foot. He took a quick trok to check his mount - legs skewed and trodding uselessly at the ground, the whites of their eyes rolling around in their frightened skull. He put them out of their misery with one sure, sharp blow. Backstepping clear of the blood, Oikawa lifted his head, taking a fast survey of his surroundings. 

Kae was being challenged by a squad of Osole, her oily Breath splashing off of their shields. As he watched, it melted down the front, attempting to take form, trying to harden again, but failing. Oikawa felt his expression sour. Great. Looks like Yaku had expanded his armoury. 

Oikawa hissed, pressing onwards. The trouble with Osole was, they always stuck together. Thanks to most of Futakuchi's forces being on the other side, Oikawa saw them starting to clump together, recovering from Bokuto's attack, teaming up to take down individual magickers stuck on this side. The battlefield was wide and scattered, which explained why he had been left alone until now. Yet he also saw Bokuto's impact - Kae had used him well, cutting air down on their main line, and Oikawa saw many bodies without any visible wounds on them, without any blood marring the dirt beneath them, stilled, suffocated. He looked away. 

Oikawa's attention was drawn over to the last of the larger skirmishes - about fifty men in total. He knew that was where Futakuchi would be. The most unblocked path was along the rim of the chasm - Oikawa couldn't blame people for keeping clear of it. He could tread parallel to it, then veer off to the right, drag Futakuchi out by force if necessary, then he could be done with this. There were less bodies nearby, too. He could use his Breath if necessary.

He drove onwards, barely aware of the presenceless Shifter trailing after him. 

When the pressure lifted, Iwaizumi wasn't sure he was able to get up. 

His arms had been straining for so long to stop his chest being crushed against the earth that they felt like half-unwinded, frayed rope, about to snap or simply dissolve. He could hear Atsumu groan ahead of him, getting to one knee, and his arms suddenly decided that if Atsumu could get up, so could he. Iwaizumi shoved himself up off of the ground, swayed, and didn't fall. 

He gulped in a deep breath, rolling his shoulders backwards. He felt drained, but he stumbled forwards, aware of people rising around him, aware of some still not moving. 

"Atsumu?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," Atsumu answered, gesturing to the survivors, drawing them over to him. "Where's 'Samu?"

Distantly, ahead of them the soldiers that had been hacking at the pinned-down Osole were being held in place, more rejoining to assault. 

Iwaizumi shook his head. "I'm not sure. I was with him… then I ran to the middle to meet Akaashi… he probably stayed focused on Futakuchi."

Atsumu clicked his tongue. "I'm sure he's just fine. He can handle a guy with a fancy shield. And from the looks of it, Kita's with him too now."

They gathered up the last of their forces, checking the fallen to make sure they couldn't be revived. It was a lot more than Iwaizumi had hoped for, but he forced himself to push down the horror. Still… the way Bokuto was capable of this, all along, and he never knew, bothered him. And how could he split the earth? Another nugget of information wriggled its way to the surface of his mind, a half-fashioned memory of reading about Brickers who could concentrate all of their force to one spot… but to Brick downwards so strongly to create a miniature valley? 

Iwaizumi suddenly understood why the Osole were terrified of magickers gaining power again.

Ushijima and Akaashi rejoined them. Ushijima's armour was a little more battered, a bit more bloody, but his face was as obstinate as ever. Iwaizumi drank in Akaashi, how his brows were unsteady, his gaze stuck to his crusty palms. He seemed smaller, somehow, and under Iwaizumi's gaze, his left shoulder gave a nervous twitch. 

"What now?" Ushijima asked, glancing around at them. "We have a manageable force left, although less than them. As I came over here, I saw that we hold the majority on this side, for now. They have only started regrouping after the earth split."

"So we act fast -" Iwaizumi was interrupted by a flash of a red cloak in his peripheral. His chest stuttered, watching Akaashi to see if he noticed his change in mood, but Akaashi's eyes were slitted, creased. Sympathy poured through Iwaizumi, finally realising what must've happened when he'd talked to Bokuto. It was like him and Oikawa. Some differences were too large to bridge over. Inhaling, he continued. 

"We go after Futakuchi. He's still here. We still have a chance." 

Futakuchi. 

Iwaizumi turned his attention to where the last of Futakuchi's forces on this side were concentrated. He assumed that they had wanted to break the way they had mostly surrounded Futakuchi's army, and give them a chance to retreat, but they hadn't banked on Futakuchi being over on this side. They'd need time to get back over here… and in the meantime…

Iwaizumi's eyes returned to where he'd seen the mark of red. 

His shirt was like a signal amongst the browns and greys of Osole soldiers, contrasting the occasional glint of metal. 

Oikawa fought like he had nothing to live for, a vessel of a ghost whose loved ones were long dead. His shirt was a deep red, the splatters of blood barely more than dark droplets on the fabric. The colour was ugly on him. 

Osole, as synchronised as ever, clinked into place around him within a trok, enclosing him in a circle. Their angled shields slammed down onto the earth and began pushing forwards, spears out in the tight gaps between them. 

Oikawa almost looked bored. 

He cast his gaze around, and Iwaizumi saw his Breath follow, as if trailing his line of sight. It was easy to know where Oikawa looked. Spearheads thudded into the dirt, shields were sliced into useless pieces, collapsing off of the soldiers’ arms. And in that momentary confusion, soldiers trained to go against Brickers, Storers and Fracturers, Oikawa dove forwards, striking two heads hard with the hilt of his daggers, sending them staggering to the side while he broke through the cage. They had trained against magickers. Nobody like Oikawa Tooru. 

Iwaizumi's breath was caught, trapped in his throat. It was hung on a string of admiration. 

There wasn’t a scratch on Oikawa. 

He watched as he ducked and struck, each individual limb a weapon in its own right. The movements were familiar. Iwaizumi’s chest ached. He’d taught him those - but they were more fluid now, sure and certain. He’d been practicing them, a lot. They looked better somehow - a grace was added, a flow of Oikawa's own making, as if he had been given the tools to create a whole new force of his own. It didn’t look like he was outright killing- only wounding, but in battle, that was only a delayed death.

And as Oikawa took down a man twice as wide as him with one sweep of his leg, something flowed through Iwaizumi’s blood. It was threatening, thrilling and undeniable. He wanted to fight him. Swallowing hard, he blinked, squeezing his hands into fists. He couldn't be distracted, but all he could think about was how much he missed seeing Oikawa's eyes narrowing in concentration, how he huffed lowly in frustration at a misstep, how his strikes were always contained and controlled to perfection. 

"Fuck," Atsumu hissed out, tracing his line of sight. Oikawa was, having rounded the other side of the chasm, close enough to the edge for the men to be thinned out but not quite avoiding resistance completely. "How'd he get over there so damn quickly?"

"He moves fast when he wants to," Iwaizumi answered, only realising the admiration lacing through his voice after Atsumu shot him a glower.

"A'right we get it, he's good, you don't have to eat his ass." 

"I don't think now is the appropriate timing for such jokes," Ushijima informed him, and Atsumu waved a hand. "I'm just sayin' the obvious, Wakkun. Look, Iwaizumi didn't even deny it."

"That's because we need to be coming up with a plan, not infighting," Iwaizumi snapped at him. "And since you don't seem to be doing it, it's up to me."

Cocking an eyebrow at him, Atsumu rested a hand on his hip. "Oh? So what now? You're gonna come up with a better plan than mine, of backing up my brother? Because while we're wasting time here 'planning,' he could be getting support."

Iwaizumi massaged the temples of his forehead. "Right. You take the remaining men to Osamu. Keep a few runners to watch either side of the chasm in case Futakuchi's main force comes back over here, which they will. Do we have any of that explosive powder left?" 

"Uhh…."

"I'll take that as a no," Iwaizumi deduced, casting a gaze over to their original position. It was barely visible. "Send one or two men to go and check for certain, though. Even if they arrive late, they'll be useful."

"Why are you giving us instructions?" Ushijima asked, regarding Iwaizumi with a curious gleam. "Won't you be with us?"

Iwaizumi exhaled. 

“I’ll take the bastard Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said lowly. “I’m the one most familiar with his abilities. I'll be able to slow him down the longest. We don't want him reaching the main battle.” 

He thought of being on top of Oikawa, touching the soft hollow below his throat and telling him to aim there. How Oikawa had swallowed, how he couldn’t shoot back with a smart remark like usual.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Akaashi’s paleness contrasted with the faint, half-wiped crimson sheen on his cheek. Iwaizumi could see a little watering in his eyes, and realised that his talk with Bokuto had hit him much harder than he was showing. "We can give you backup."

He thought of the same watering in Oikawa’s eyes when he told him about how whatever he did would never be enough, that nothing would ever change. 

“Yeah. I’ll be fine, you guys just focus on Futa -“

“Will you be able to kill him?” Atsumu interrupted. “Don’t bother unless you will be.” 

Iwaizumi thought of the feeling of Oikawa’s scars laced across his back, skimming underneath his fingers. He thought, and he lied.

“Yeah.”

Atsumu's expression grew sour, and Iwaizumi could tell he was about to spew out about what bullshit that was. He readied himself, then Akaashi's palm landed on Atsumu's shoulder. 

“Don't aim to kill him. Capture him if possible,” Akaashi instructed. “He’s a powerful figure, and we need all the influence we can get."

Iwaizumi thought of the cave, of his cold eyes and painful Breath, of smooth tone and haunting words, of a wistful face in the firelight.

"If he can be convinced over to our side," Ushijima said. "He already switched once. I don't trust him to not betray us again."

If anyone else went, they would try and kill him.

Iwaizumi tightened his grip on his hilt, the brooch in his pocket weighing him down. "I can think of a few ways to persuade him." His eyes rounded the Form members, memorising their expressions, Akaashi's concern, Atsumu's barely held back suspicion, Ushijima's flat gaze. "You guys just focus on your own squads. Try and surround them again - they can't defend from all angles. I'll occupy Oikawa." 

“Good luck.”

Iwaizumi could feel Oikawa’s kisses on the backs of his bloody fingers as they broke apart. Within a trok, all the commanders and men were drawing away from him, the fading sensation of being left alone seeping in. He was open and isolated.

With one last deep breath, he began running towards the chasm's edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can support me [here if you'd like!](https://twitter.com/spikyiwaizumi)  
> thank you to everyone who comments/commented, i am so sorry if i don't reply to yours quickly, uni is beating me into the floor rn and the only time i have to write is usually 2-3am lmao  
> i am endlessly annoyed that i didn't manage to fit all of the juice into a single chapter.  
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING AND I SHALL SEE YOU SOON. HOPEFULLY. <33


	19. Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh ho ho, i've more treats for you guys, kindly supplied by some incredibly skilled readers- go check out their art! 
> 
> [ tlk trailer ](https://twitter.com/ACatNamedSkai/status/1339606559995912205?s=20)  
> [denimnoodle's iwa ](https://twitter.com/denimnoodle/status/1339663366860795909?s=20)  
> [adinda's sparring storyboard](https://twitter.com/_rainingwinter/status/1332730472309301249?s=20)  
> [tien's chap 18 art ](https://twitter.com/tienwashere/status/1332503243994394629?s=20)  
> [ pinky's iwa](https://twitter.com/tooruspinkytoe/status/1339315042701938688?s=20)  
> [pinky's oikawa](https://twitter.com/tooruspinkytoe/status/1339722599597826049?s=20)  
> [sofia's oikawa](https://twitter.com/oikawasbrace/status/1339923115548307456?s=20)  
> [maja's oikawa](https://twitter.com/MajaMibu/status/1339254796449091584?s=20)  
> [bug's yaku](https://twitter.com/wildberry_cola/status/1337702088441290752?s=20)  
> [skai's tlk thread](https://twitter.com/ACatNamedSkai/status/1332290460199641088?s=20)

The back of the Osole's head sunk into the dirt, Oikawa's foot on their chest, pushing down. He leered forwards, eyes narrowed and dancing, the ends of his daggers raking over the metal of their armour. Iwaizumi was too far away to hear what he was saying, but he was certain it was shit - he had always loved to taunt Iwaizumi during their sparring matches. A tightness - a sourness, enveloped his chest, yet another emotion Iwaizumi couldn't fucking identify. 

He wasn't wearing armour, like a moron, and Iwaizumi fought back the urge to chide him for it. 

And yet, he couldn't deny the fact that he looked polished, clean, aside from a few spatters of blood and a slight fraying of his cloak here and there. 

Using their chest as a platform, he airily stepped beyond them, and his gaze landed on Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi didn't see the surprise he expected - Oikawa's lips parted, a tough swallow - but that was all. His mask never slipped. Iwaizumi hated how he admired him for that as much as the fakeness sickened him. He was certain that his own emotions were easy pickings for Oikawa.

They faced each other, halting a foot apart.

Oikawa levelled his daggers. “Get out of my way.” 

Iwaizumi lifted his sword. "No."

He wasn't going to let Oikawa past.

"My deepest apologies," Oikawa responded, his tone flowing like oil, smooth and about to burst into flames. "Did it sound like I was asking a question?"

A smirk drew over his lips, and he twirled a dagger around, once. 

"You don't get to order me about," Iwaizumi snapped back, his muscles rigid. 

He recognised the knots in his limbs as he stared down Oikawa, neither of them budging. It was from his first war, his first real fight, when he was young and barely made it out of the fighting breathing. Ushijima had dragged him out, the prodigy, the genius, the strongest. Everything Iwaizumi wasn't. 

Breathe, Hajime, breathe. 

"Well," Oikawa said lightly, brushing some dirt from his thigh. "If you don't listen to me, I'll have to kill you. You do know that was implied, right?"

Iwaizumi began to feel increasingly murderous, and Oikawa laughed at him. 

"Sorry, sorry!" His fucking voice was so manufactured and so thinly lighthearted that Iwaizumi was surprised it even made it through the air, that it didn't warble and splinter on the way. It rang out as nothing but insincere and infuriating. "I was just checking, being considerate enough of your caveman brain to give you a second chance to back away-"

A soldier appeared in Iwaizumi’s peripheral, pushing out his palm towards him. Twisting, Iwaizumi raced forwards, grabbing his wrist and yanking it downwards. He felt the power hit the earth right in front of his feet right as his sword ran through his throat. 

His sword emerged with a little piece of bone stuck to the crimson-slicked steel.

Iwaizumi glanced up and saw Oikawa staring at him, his brown eyes expanded. To Iwaizumi, they were broad enough to hold mountains. Oikawa stepped back, clasping his hand over his nose and mouth, and Iwaizumi’s stomach shrivelled up, knowing what Oikawa was doing, knowing he was the reason the stench of death was wafting over to him. 

“And you said I was the same as I was back in the cave.” 

Oikawa’s voice was hard. The body hit the ground. 

“How dare you?” He accused, his hand falling away, his mouth wrenched to the side, bitter and poisonous. “You _asshole! You’re_ the one who hasn’t changed at all!"

"Shut up," Iwaizumi said, and the words rumbled up, then spat out of his throat. "For fucking once, stop running your mouth and just _fight."_

Oikawa recoiled, his face shutting down, bleeding into a seamless mask. He spun his daggers around in his hands, advancing on Iwaizumi. 

A brief, wrenching flash of fear tugged at Iwaizumi’s gut. 

He shook it off. He knew Oikawa’s skills. He was better at him at close-quarters combat, no matter how much Oikawa may have practiced. Hell, he was the one who taught him everything he knew, and so knew the counters for them. It was ridiculous of him to be feeling scared. He even was familiar with how he used his Breath in a fight - he'd cut the back of a knee, or aim for vital spots, quick and focused. 

Yet Oikawa had a resolve in his gaze, one Iwaizumi couldn’t match. 

Oikawa attacked first, his Breath weaving out from between his lips. Iwaizumi twisted, Oikawa's Breath being deflected by his armour with a sharp clink. His daggers followed, and Iwaizumi's body snapped into motion, deflecting the slash of both with one calculated parry, his stance fluid enough to change within an instant. Annoyance riddled Oikawa's expression, and Iwaizumi counter-attacked, bringing a leg around to hit off the side of Oikawa's knee. It connected, but not as hard as it should have - Oikawa shifted at the last trok, moving with the blow, softening it. 

He was as elegant as ever up close, and it pissed Iwaizumi off, how precisely the tendons in his hands flexed under his scarred skin as he angled his daggers, how gracefully his clothes seemed to flutter around him even when he abruptly changed his direction to try and throw Iwaizumi off. Iwaizumi didn't know why he was trying to make him feel perilously tilted with his fighting when his very presence did the very same. The stones felt glassy under his feet.

The way his Breath slit the air was majestic, and Iwaizumi thought he saw a flash of gold, even as he ducked past its trajectory. 

Then he lunged forwards in a feint, snapping back - he wasn't surprised to see Oikawa react almost instantly, familiar with his feinting motion - but it wasn't enough. Iwaizumi's blade cut across his temple as he leaned back - and the sight of Oikawa's skin slicing open under his steel was harder to bear than Iwaizumi had thought. 

They'd sparred plenty of times before to the point of bruising, and at risk of more serious injuries. 

And yet, as Iwaizumi pulled back, as he watched Oikawa touch his forehead, a little brush over the swelling wound, as if checking that it was really there. His lips split apart, his gaze wavering over and back across Iwaizumi's face, roaming brown eyes reminding Iwaizumi of crushed earth. 

_He didn't think I'd actually hurt him._

White blood streamed down the crest of his brow, and Oikawa blinked, his eyelashes lightening as they were slowly soaked. He screwed up one eye, the blood continuing down his cheek and dripping off of his chin. His inhale was a shudder.

Iwaizumi tried to remind himself that head wounds tended to bleed a lot, regardless if they were serious or not. He … he hadn't cut that deep, had he?

He wanted to step forwards and press some cloth to the wound, to check if he was okay. Instead, he stood there. 

Lifting a hand, Oikawa smeared away his blood, melding it back into his hair. He flicked his hand downwards with an expression of disgust, droplets spraying into the air. Iwaizumi's sword suddenly felt like it weighed more. Oikawa's cheek was a blur of white. The tiny rivers kept flowing, pooling in the crevasses of Oikawa's right eye.

"Lucky hit," he dismissed it, the moment of trodden dirt over within a trok. He fixated on Iwaizumi again, and Iwaizumi saw his chest expand, saw a shimmering between his lips. 

"It wasn't luck," Iwaizumi told him, raising his sword and slashing downwards. Oikawa's Breath shattered underneath the treated metal, and he saw shock flutter across Oikawa's face for a moment. 

"I'm better than you," he finished, planting his feet firmly apart. 

"Like hell you are." Oikawa smirked _again_ , twirling his daggers around. "Be sure to pass on my condolences to your dead god when you meet her, okay?"

He gave Iwaizumi a slippery smile, a little flash of teeth before his lips closed over again. It fucking ground on Iwaizumi's nerves, even more than when Oikawa was glaring at him. Because the glare was real, the anger was real. His smug godforsaken expression was an act designed to piss Iwaizumi off. 

Iwaizumi lunged. Oikawa sidestepped, slashed at his arm. Parried, dagger sliding off sword. Iwaizumi's fist, brought around to meet Oikawa's ribs, dodged with a quick backstep. Upwards swipe of his dagger, skidding over Iwaizumi's chestplate with a screech, Breath wavering in between his lips. Iwaizumi ducked, feeling Breath slice past his ear. 

The end of his hilt jammed into the side of Oikawa's hand, Iwaizumi twisting it in underneath his thumb and jerking it forwards, hard. Oikawa’s dagger thudded into the dirt. 

Instantly, Oikawa's hand latched onto Iwaizumi's wrist. The air grew heavy. Struggling, Iwaizumi tried to free his sword hand, chest pounding, aware of Oikawa's void eyes leeching into him, aware of the cold strength of his fingers, aware of the warning ripple of wind around his lips. He threw his sword to his left hand with ease, bringing it around - and hesitated. The edge was next to Oikawa's unguarded ribs. It quivered. Oikawa's gaze dared him to follow through.

Iwaizumi shifted his trapped hand instead, breaking free and away, but not fast enough.

Oikawa's Breath sought out the chink in his armour with unnerving accuracy. A chill spread through Iwaizumi as it plunged into his thigh, a numbness creeping outwards. It felt like ice, smooth and cool and deadly. It broke apart within his flesh, what felt like a million shards piercing him from the inside out, and Iwaizmi gasped, managing to keep himself to a low, long groan as he stumbled back, Oikawa making no move to stop him.

Oikawa’s hand was trembling.

And under Iwaizumi’s desperate gaze, he closed it into a fist and backstepped. 

He could’ve landed a killing blow, could’ve easily slit Iwaizumi’s throat as he faltered, staggering back on only one leg, hand falling to flounder at the other. Iwaizumi knew that. He knew Oikawa knew that. 

Shame burned through him. He had promised to curb Oikawa. And yet, as they gazed at each other, as Iwaizumi felt the slow pulse of blood pump down his leg, he knew he couldn’t. He had never wanted to in the first place. 

“I’m not fighting you any more,” Iwaizumi choked out, trying to bypass the thickness of his voice, swallow down the pain. 

“Oh, so you’re fine injuring me, but when I retaliate, that’s when you bow out?” Oikawa cocked a hand on his hip, regarding him. It struck Iwaizumi just how much false arrogance he could summon up. "That's a bit unfair, don't you think?"

“That’s not it, and you know it.” 

“Hmm,” Oikawa considered him, tilting his head to the side. “No. I think you’re an idiot.”

Iwaizumi glowered at Oikawa, and Oikawa had his mask perfectly arranged, a little quirk of the edges of his mouth the flawless image of arrogance. But Iwaizumi saw more than that now - he saw the uncertain twitch of his left eye. He saw the single quaver of his hand as he wiped white from his chin. He saw how broken his eyes were. 

“So what? You’re going to kill me?” Iwaizumi challenged, bearing almost all of his weight on one leg. 

The pain was tolerable now. He could handle it. Yet, he sheathed his sword.

“Maybe,” Oikawa said mildly. “If I feel like it. All I have to do is get past you, and that doesn’t appear like it’ll be very hard at the moment, does it?” 

Iwaizumi’s chest heaved as he spoke. “You’re not going to kill me.” 

“How do you know that?” A fracture of emotion leaked through Oikawa’s ceramic skin. "Like how you knew I was going to come with you and Tobio? Like how you knew I was kind?" Oikawa's voice dropped to a husk. "Like how you knew I wasn't going to leave?"

Pain tore through Iwaizumi's chest, like someone had grabbed hold of his ribs and wrenched them apart. He wished Oikawa had just punched him. 

"Oh?" Oikawa quirked an eyebrow upwards. "No answer?"

Shaking his head, Iwaizumi braced his jaw, expecting Oikawa to take out his frustrations on him. Oikawa stepped forwards, still with Eita's dagger in hand. 

"Really?" Oikawa's voice dripped with disbelief. "You have nothing to say to me?"

"Your personality is as shit as ever," Iwaizumi grumbled out, glowering at Oikawa, who was only a pace away, his deadly mouth and cool hands within reach. He felt his fingers flex restlessly, and he pressed his palm harder over his wound, focusing on slowing down the dribbles. 

Abruptly, Oikawa grabbed the edge of Iwaizumi's shoulder plate, yanking him in. The injury Osamu had given him flashed with pain, and Iwaizumi clenched his jaw against it, matching Oikawa's glare.

“Have you realised it?” Oikawa’s breath was hot on Iwaizumi’s nose. “That you’re on the wrong side? Is that why you aren’t fighting me? You fight better than this.” 

“I -“ 

"Tell me it isn't because you've become a coward. "

“I’m not a coward.”

Iwaizumi's narrowed eyes blazed back at him. A thin sliver of white shone out against the green. "I'm not the one who ran away."

"I'm not the one who was scared to leave his shitty little discriminatory cult, was I?" Oikawa hissed back, spitting out the words. "At least I'm trying to make up for my mistakes. You're ignoring them and hoping everyone else will make things better." 

Silence. No retort, no scowl. Only Iwaizumi staring back at him, a depth of empathy in his gaze that wasn't there before. He reached up and grasped Oikawa's shoulder. It was like the grip of a drowning man.

"Oikawa, I think… I know what you're saying now," he said, his voice mangled, as if on the verge of tears, rough with emotion. "I'm sorry I said -"

He never managed to finish his sentence.

Iwaizumi felt someone strike his side, and he retreated back, throwing up his arms in front of his face defensively. He caught a flash of black hair, and his gut wrenched. 

“Kae - hey -“ Oikawa’s voice resonated into the space between them, and vaguely Iwaizumi registered his hand reaching for her shoulder. 

Kae dipped under his elbow whizzing past her cheek, sliding forwards and underneath Iwaizumi’s guard. Oikawa’s fingers closed around air. 

He managed to block the next kick to his stomach, backstepping to absorb the force -

His heel went straight through where the ground should've been. Flinging himself forwards in an attempt to regain his balance, his solid footing, he caught a glimpse of Oikawa’s pale face, eyes wide, and then Kae filled his view again. Her face was flat as she bypassed his swing, shoving at his torso with unnatural strength. 

Iwaizumi would’ve been able to dodge. If the injury from Oikawa’s Breath hadn’t sent a spasm of agony through him, if his leg hadn’t crumpled underneath him, if he hadn't been so off-balance.

He heard Oikawa cry out something unintelligible, and then Iwaizumi's feet left the earth as he was propelled over the edge. 

Things slowed. He saw Kae begin to turn, her job done. Oikawa’s expression, shattering and rebuilding itself in less than a heartbeat, turning from anger to despair. He moved fast over those last few steps, faster than humanly possible, reaching out over the chasm. His mouth was forming the first syllable of a name.

Desperately, Iwaizumi threw out his hand. He felt a familiar palm, laced with scars, gliding over his arm. It caught around his wrist. And for a moment, he thought it was useless - he was only pulling Oikawa down with his momentum - until he felt the jerk, the halt that he thought would tear his shoulder apart. He slammed into a wall of rocky earth, the vibrations shivering through him, but stabilising quickly. 

They had stopped. 

Iwaizumi glanced down, clutching onto Oikawa’s wrist, watching his legs dangle in free air. He thought below looked like Moniwa's pool, a spreading, expanding lagoon of blackness, oozing up the sides, gobbling up all light with an inconceivable hunger. His neck snapped back as he looked upwards, up the length of Oikawa's body to where a single hand was gripping the edge of the chasm. 

"Gods," Oikawa gritted out. "You're so fucking heavy. Who got you to wear that stupid armour?" 

Iwaizumi felt the strain in Oikawa's arm, his shoulder shifting slightly upwards as he tried to raise Iwaizumi up, but only managed an inch before being forced to drop him back down. 

"Why did you…" The words faltered on Iwaizumi's tongue. He knew why. Oikawa didn't want him dead. He’d be badly injured by now if he did. Oikawa had kissed his fingers and kissed his insecurities and promised him that they'd be together, in this life or another. And he'd chosen this one. 

He could feel his warm blood ooze down his thigh. 

“Oikawa,” he called up, his voice cracking. 

He blinked. How had he known that he would be able to reach Iwaizumi and the edge? That he wouldn't be pulled too far into the earth's wound by Iwaizumi's momentum to reach back and catch the side?

Iwaizumi thought he knew the answer. He hadn’t.

Oikawa's gaze darted around. He just needed a single seed - something nearby enough he could Breathe into without passing out. He saw nothing. There was a reason the Westlands bothered with Katachi - their landscape was rocky, barren, and Oikawa had never hated it more than now. He needed to _see_ a plant - but all he could see was the sky licking the edge of the chasm, empty, clay-like soil grainy against his palm. He looked up and down, searching, and only saw split rock, crumbling bits of earth running down the sides into blackness. 

If he was his father, he would be able to sense any potential for life around. But he had spent his whole life trying to not be his father and it was pushing back on him now -

The crunching of footsteps interrupted his thoughts, the beat of them vibrating through his hand. Hope flared through him, 

Kae, on foot, leaned over the edge, crouching swiftly. "Hello, Oikawa."

Her arms rested over her bent knees as she examined the situation calmly, gaze flowing down over them. At her show of apathy, a bolt of anger coursed through Oikawa, and he spat out his next words. 

"Are we going to exchange pleasantries, or are you going to help us?" he demanded, and Kae looked unaffected.

“You said you are willing to kill for change. Show me.”

Oikawa’s heart plummeted. “Not like this," he protested, staring at Kae's blank, golden irises. "Pull us up and I’ll kill him honourably -“

“Where was the honour when they slaughtered us for no reason?” Kae demanded. “Where was the honour when we were given no trial, no voice, no chance to defend ourselves? Let go of him, Tooru.”

Oikawa's hands were aching with a deep pain, like his bones stretching. 

“Kae - Kae, listen,” Oikawa pleaded. He heard his voice break, his fingers straining hard, a dangerous numbness crawling up his hand. “I swear to you - there are other ways to go about this, we don’t have to be like them -“

“No.” Not a single waver. “Drop him.”

“No,” Oikawa gritted out.

Iwaizumi's voice rose up from beneath him. “Oikawa, it’s okay. There’s no point in both of us dying-“

How did he sound so steady? Anger unfurled through Oikawa, hot and fast. "Shut up, Hajime."

Kae tilted her head. "Even he agrees that you should let him go." 

“Pull us up right now.” Oikawa fashioned his tone into an order. “I will fall, and you will lose an ally.”

Kae shuffled closer, her toes just shy of Oikawa's exhausted fingers, and leaned down. “I don’t want an asset I can’t trust. I see your choice is already made.” 

Standing, she turned on her heel and walked away. Despair poured through Oikawa, enough to choke off his voice. He was valuable - he knew that, she couldn't… she wouldn't -

“Oikawa….” Iwaizumi’s voice was no longer even. It was tight, twisted, strangled. “Let me go.” 

“No!” Oikawa burst out. He felt Iwaizumi twist in his grip. “Hajime, if you struggle I’ll fall too.” 

Iwaizumi went motionless. “Then what, Oikawa?! What the _fuck_ do you suggest we do? Wait in hopes that someone manages to see a hand at the edge in the midst of battle?! That’s not -“

“I know!” Oikawa snapped out. Panic punched through him as his fingers grew even more unresponsive, and he flared up his senses, trying to increase his grip. Iwaizumi’s fear smelled like lemons. A fracture broke through the soil, and Oikawa bit down on the inside of his cheek, blood welling up under his teeth. No matter how strong Oikawa was, the earth would still yield. 

“Let me think-“ 

Think. 

Iwaizumi's mind was still, clear. He couldn't push against the wall, it would only drive him outwards, and Oikawa might lose his grip. He couldn't see the bottom of the chasm. Fracturing would help nothing. He glanced over his shoulder, at the breadth of it, and swallowed. Making it to the other side was unlikely - at this angle and this far down, he'd smash into the wall, unable to propel himself upwards enough. If he could even clear the width.

He still Bricked downwards from his free hand, hoping to feel the pushback from the ground. As moments passed and he felt nothing, fear grew in his throat. 

"Save yourself." Iwaizumi began to unwrap his fingers from around Oikawa's wrist, warping them away from his cool skin. They were shaking. From strain or emotion, he wasn’t sure. "Survive. It's what you do."

"I don't want it to be. Not anymore." 

"Well, it's either one of us, or both of us."

His cold rationale did nothing to soothe him. 

"I swear to the gods Hajime, if you dare to try and wriggle any more, I am going to drop you."

It was stupid, the stupidest thing Iwaizumi could think of possible. And somehow, he laughed, feeling Oikawa's grip on him intensify. 

“Hajime, listen." Oikawa's tone was low, intense. Hajime listened. "If you Brick at a downwards angle against the wall I can use the momentum to sling you up over the side and then you can pull me up-“

“You’ll lose your grip! It'll push you outwards as well, with my weight -”

“I won’t. I'm strong enough. I can hold on.”

Oikawa’s voice was sure. His face was turned up, away from Iwaizumi. He couldn’t see his expression. 

“The more we wait, the more my grip slips, so do it already! Trust me.” 

Think.

Iwaizumi couldn’t think of anything else. 

He could see the strain in Oikawa’s body, the whiteness of his fingers, the tendons in his neck standing out. However strong Oikawa was, there was a limit. He had a limit, and they were fast approaching it. He gripped Oikawa's wrist again, noting how, despite Oikawa's effort, he'd slipped down. Half of his hand was around the heel of Oikawa's palm. 

He could just let go. 

Oikawa wouldn’t be able to hold onto him for much longer. But - would he be able to keep his grip until Iwaizumi fell? 

_“Hajime.”_

“Alright,” Iwaizumi said. He let his free arm hang down by his side, and gathered himself. He looked down, his mouth drying up, and tried to judge the best angle. 

Putting out his hand, he glanced up, trying to imagine the swing. Above him, Oikawa let out a low groan, his fingers sweating against Iwaizumi's skin, having to hang onto him with a bruising force. 

"Hurry…. up." Oikawa sounded tense, as if all the muscles in his neck had locked up, squeezing around his throat. 

Iwaizumi took a breath, concentrating on flowing all the power to his palm. He had to get this right. He needed as much pushback upwards as possible, yet if he made the angle too steep, he wouldn't get enough - not all at once, as some parts would hit the wall later, and Iwaizumi didn't want to know how that would alter his course. 

"Alright," Iwaizumi breathed out, holding his hand as still as possible, attempting to picture cold metal shimmering on the surface of his skin. 

He Bricked, the rush of power from his body causing his head to spin, and he felt the force of the reflection almost instantly, propelling him backwards and upwards, only anchored by Oikawa's fingers, and then he was arching overhead, Oikawa's grunt of effort resonating as he hauled him towards the edge. Everything spun. 

The earth crumbled under Oikawa’s hand. 

_I can hold on._

Iwaizumi felt his heart crack. 

He lost sight of Oikawa as he tumbled through the air, back thudding onto the hard ground. Within a trok, he scrambled to his feet, recognising that there was no sign of fingers on the side, recognising that there was no foliage on the side to hang onto, and diving forwards anyways. He wasn’t thinking. His only thought was that he had to reach Oikawa. 

He flung himself forwards onto his chest, arm outstretched down as if Oikawa would be there. There was no trace of him. It was as if the chasm had simply yawned wide and consumed him, throat wet and slippery and impossible to brace against. 

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi whispered. His lips felt numb. This couldn't be happening. 

_“TOORU!”_ He yelled, the name scorching his throat, flaming up in his lungs. His thigh throbbed as he got to his feet.

Then something grabbed him around his waist - his foot was in thin air, and he realised he'd been about to follow Oikawa over the edge. Something streaked past him, a blur of wings and scales, diving down into the depths. 

"Iwaizumi, that won't help anything," a voice rumbled by his ear as he was yanked backwards, losing sight of the creature. 

“OIKAWA!” Iwaizumi cried out, shoving at Ushijima’s shoulders. “OIKAWA! WAKATOSHI LET ME PAST -“ 

Ushijima manhandled him further away, his boots leaving disconnected furrows in the ground. “You can’t save him.” 

“I-“ Iwaizumi realised he was sobbing, his mouth filling with salty mucus and his cheeks wet. “I know that - don’t you think I KNOW that!” 

Iwaizumi put his hand against Ushijima’s chest and shoved him back, power expelling from his palm, the dim sound of his glove ripping off hardly registering. He ran towards the edge again, feeling blood spurt down his leg in a new wave, not sure what he was going to do - maybe if he dove down too and Bricked just before hitting the bottom - was there a bottom? Was there any possible way to get back up? Would he even reach Oikawa in time to grab him?

His mouth tasted of mud.

Something shot up out of the chasm and collided with him. 

The bird-like creature shrunk to a human, panting heavily, swaying on their feet. But Iwaizumi didn’t care about them. Oikawa had tumbled from their grasp, laying sideways, his breathing harsh, accelerated, ragged. He pressed his palms to the ground, fingers sinking in a full inch despite the hard stones and clay-like dirt, as if convincing himself he was here, really here.

Iwaizumi grabbed Oikawa’s shoulders, tugging him upright, and felt Oikawa latch onto him, hugging him close.

“By the lady- Oika - Tooru, you’re alright? You’re okay?” 

Oikawa shuddered against him, his arms almost crushing Iwaizumi’s chest despite the armour. His face was pressed into the side of Iwaizumi’s neck, panicked pants searing his skin. He was shaking, fingers digging hard into the back of Iwaizumi’s neck, crooked in between the gap of metal. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Iwaizumi murmured, hands wandering up and down Oikawa’s curved back. “You saved me - thank you. Thank you.” 

Only one breath passed Oikawa's lips. 

"Hajime."

His name felt hot against Iwaizumi’s ear.

"Yes. Yes, I'm here," Iwaizumi breathed back, pulling back slightly so he could see Oikawa's face. "You're here and you're alright.” 

Oikawa’s nose brushed off of his, neither expanding the space between them. Iwaizumi felt his heartbeat in his lips. Yes, Iwaizumi thought, watching how the copper in Oikawa’s eyes glittered with every blink. This was the right distance. 

Then Oikawa pressed his mouth to his, shoulders hunching up as his hands slid around Iwaizumi's face, cradling his cheeks. Iwaizumi took a trok to process this, to realise that the pressure against his lips was Oikawa, that the closed eyelids he was seeing up close meant that he should shut his eyes, too. And he did, feeling Oikawa start to withdraw, but Iwaizumi didn't let him go far. 

He tilted his head and kissed Oikawa back properly, curling his arms around his slender neck, above his broad shoulders. Oikawa's tiny inhale of surprise against his mouth was all he could've possibly wished for. Oikawa began kissing him back, focused and hungry, and Iwaizumi thought that this was all he wanted, too. His lips moved a little desperately, a little needily, and Iwaizumi was sure he was the same, snatched away by the relief drowning his chest, lost in the heat of Oikawa's surging mouth. 

His lips weren’t particularly soft. He tasted of nothing but drying spit and the faint scent of jasmine. 

But it was Tooru.

Tooru was kissing him.

Oikawa’s tongue nudged at the junction of Iwaizumi’s lips, insistent, and Iwaizumi gave himself over to him, deepening the kiss, fingers tangling through thick-stranded hair. The blood from the wound Iwaizumi had given him earlier seeped into the corner of his mouth, metallic and cool, and Iwaizumi remembered wondering if he tasted like gold - and in that moment, he did. 

Iwaizumi wouldn’t mind kissing nobody but him for the rest of his life. 

He realised that Oikawa was murmuring against his mouth, and then felt his actual Breath slinking down his throat. It diffused out through his body, the ache in his shoulder fading, the sharpness in his thigh melting away.

Was it his imagination, or did it hurt less? Or was he simply so distracted, so taken by the feeling of Oikawa’s light touch on his scalp and his warm lips that he didn’t notice the pain? 

Iwaizumi felt the coolness of Oikawa’s Breath ghosting back through his mouth, flooding over the backs of his lips. 

He pulled back, and Oikawa held his face in his hands, expression softer than Iwaizumi had ever seen it. His hands were still quivering a little. 

“I was falling,” Oikawa said, his voice breaking. “And all I could think about was how I hadn’t kissed you.” 

All Iwaizumi could do was lean his forehead against his, cherishing the last curls of Oikawa’s breath on his mouth, fingers restlessly grasping at Oikawa’s sleeves. The black material was smooth, silky, and Iwaizumi wanted nothing more than to feel the pale skin beneath. He closed his eyes.

He was far too aware of the noise around them, the sounds of battle, bloodshed. He couldn’t stay here. Oikawa couldn’t stay here. They couldn’t kill each other. 

Iwaizumi embraced him, holding him as emotions impossible to channel into words tore through him, lowering his head to rest in the warm crook of Oikawa’s neck. He felt Oikawa kiss the side of his head, arms curling over his back, squeezing him close. 

“Oh, Hajime,” Oikawa whispered, lips brushing the curve of Iwaizumi's ear. His hands slid down over Hajimes shoulders, pushing him back, and the sheer depth of fatigue in his eyes scared Iwaizumi. They reminded him of the brown of blood long dried, dulled despite the break in the clouds overheard, despite the light snaking over the curve of his nose. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Hajime," Oikawa repeated softly, as if he couldn't get enough of the name, of how it felt on his tongue. "What have we done?"

Feeling the skin on his lips splinter, too dry without Oikawa's warmth, Iwaizumi clung onto his wrists, noticing how his fingers reached all the way around, noticing how hard Oikawa's pulse was, knowing the thundering in his chest was mirrored. 

"I'm sorry," Iwaizumi croaked out. 

Oikawa's palm was on his cheek then, gently drawing back, lifting Iwaizumi's face. "Apologies don't suit you, Hajime."

Iwaizumi cracked a smile. It felt like a start.

He saw Oikawa's eyes fly beyond him, and he turned to see Ushijima and Kae fighting. 

Kae's long, oily spear cracked against Ushijima's sword, and Iwaizumi didn't see any more, because he couldn't keep his eyes from drawing over to Oikawa, couldn't bring himself to care about the conflict behind him.

And once again, words flinched away from him. He relaxed back, resting his palms on Oikawa’s thighs. The material was sticky with sweat and blood.

“Tooru...” he murmured out, keeping his gaze on Oikawa’s bent knees, barely tapping off his own. “You picked a shitty time to kiss me.” 

Oikawa’s eyes reflected hurt as he tilted Iwaizumi’s head up. Iwaizumi didn’t regret his words - they both knew it was true. And before Oikawa even opened his mouth, Iwaizumi already knew what he was going to say. 

“Come with me,” Tooru said, steady and sure. 

His fingers tightened on Iwaizumi’s chin. “I know the Form is like your family, but they’re wrong. You know they’re on the wrong side of this, don’t you? That’s why you wouldn’t fight me.” 

“They are my family,” Iwaizumi whispered back. His fingers sought out the white blood on Oikawa’s brow, tenderly cleaning away as much as he could. “I can’t just leave.” 

The line of Oikawa’s mouth set hard. “Families aren’t irreplaceable.” 

A shadow fell over them. It felt like a solar eclipse. Oikawa threw out a hand, reaching over the side of Iwaizumi's neck, and there was a slick sound as black flashed in the corner of Iwaizumi's eye. His head whipped to the side, fear dragging over him. He hadn't even noticed her approach. Oikawa consumed him, swallowing his focus and claiming his attention. 

"No," Oikawa told her, the deepness of his tone resounding near Iwaizumi's ear. He almost growled out the word, glowering up at Kae, holding her oily spear tight in his fist. The end of the spear was inches from Iwaizumi’s neck, halfway between his spine and shoulder. White fluid slowly seeped through his fingers, dripping down his wrist, sliding off of Iwaizumi’s shoulder plate.

Horror cracked through Iwaizumi as he turned back, but his expression held no pain. As Oikawa gazed at him, something fierce ignited in his hardened face. He spoke as if the words were diamond between his lips. 

"Not him."

Iwaizumi felt breathless. 

"Fine," Kae snapped back. Iwaizumi noticed crimson staining her robe, patches soaking through her shoulder and thigh. "But we're leaving. Now."

Oikawa didn’t glance away from Iwaizumi at the sound of Kae’s voice. Her spear melted in his fist, his other hand caressing the side of Iwaizumi’s face. 

“Hajime,” he began. “If you don’t come with me now, I’ll come and get you. I promise that -"

Kae snarled out her next words, over what Iwaizumi opened his mouth to say. _"Oikawa."_

Oikawa's thumb indented hard on Iwaizumi's jaw, then dropped away. He swallowed, Iwaizumi helplessly tracing the smooth motion, and rose to his feet, looking down at Iwaizumi, regarding him with something deep in his face. His white blood slunk down the length of his hand. The sound of the drips into the earth were too loud.

“I’ll come for you.” 

Iwaizumi couldn’t get off of his knees, staring up at Oikawa, blinking hopelessly. He felt weaker than ever before, even when Osamu was crashing his knee into his face. He almost wished Oikawa would just toss him into the chasm. It would be easier than the choice he was forced to make. 

His hand shot out, grasping Oikawa's wrist. 

"Wait," he said desperately, lips forming around words he didn't know. “We - I…” 

Oikawa gazed down at him, soft, then dipped to one knee, curling his hands around Iwaizumi's face. They felt so warm, one coated in his sweet-smelling blood. "It's okay, Hajime. I'll find you."

Kae's order crackled through the air. "Oikawa. You're wasting time."

Iwaizumi saw his expression ripple for a moment, as he had so many times before, but this time the emotion wasn't muddy to him, a half-created thought of something he almost knew - he saw uncertainty in the subtle pinch of his brow, regret in the downwards drag of the edges of his lips. 

Something flowed through Iwaizumi. He thought that maybe, it was the peace of a decision.

Leaning forwards, Iwaizumi kissed him again, only slanting their mouths together for a shallow instant. Oikawa's mouth already felt familiar, the shape and feel of it reassuring, relaxing. 

He pulled back, and gently pushed at Oikawa's shoulder. "Go. I have some things I need to do first."

Understanding melted through Oikawa's mask, and he gave Iwaizumi a brief flash of a smile, a real one. "I'll be waiting."

He stood again, and walked away without looking back. Iwaizumi touched his cheek, his fingers coming away dabbed in white. Somehow, it felt comforting rather than horrifying, to still have a remnant of Oikawa on him. 

Ushijima hobbled over to him, holding his side. It was leaking crimson, and Iwaizumi wasn't surprised. It gave him a little awful sense of satisfaction, remembering how Ushijima had berated him for losing the heir to her, to see that he was almost equally at her mercy. He scrambled to his feet. 

"Ah - " Iwaizumi started, reaching out to sling an arm around his torso. 

"It's shallow. I can walk," Ushijima told him, batting his arm away. His eyes were clear, focused on something else. 

“You weren’t able to kill him.”

Iwaizumi dropped his gaze. “No. I was stupid to think I could. You….” his voice broke. "You were right. I love him."

“I know." Ushijima's tone bent, just a little. "That’s why I came after you. I knew you wouldn't be able to kill him, but I wasn’t sure if Oikawa was the same. I didn’t want you to die.” 

Covering his face with his hands, Iwaizumi intook a jarring breath, one that shook his ribs. "You wouldn't have been able to kill him. He's… he's -"

“Iwaizumi. We have no time for your pining over Oikawa,” Ushijima said. “You’ve indulged in that enough lately.” 

Iwaizumi gulped in a breath, then another one. Steadying himself. He slowly wiped away the last of the stickiness on his cheek, the imprint of Oikawa's palm not flaking free easily, and lowered his hands. He clenched them together, thinking. The warmth of Oikawa’s lips was fading. 

Ushijima watched him, then he dropped his gaze to his hands. "How did you manage to hide that from me?"

"Huh?"

"That you're a magicker."

Iwaizumi's throat grew tight. "Uh.”

"Atsumu and I saw you throw that shield. Then there, you pushed me, and I moved. You're not that strong. You're a Bricker. And you hid that from me for years." 

His voice was strong, no room left for doubt. Ushijima never doubted. 

Iwaizumi wet his lips. It was all coming apart. "Maybe you'd have figured it out if you'd kept your memories of us."

A rarely seen expression contorted Ushijima's face - a lugging of his brow downwards, almost entirely closing his eyes as he regarded Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi stared back, setting his teeth. 

"What?"

"We'll discuss it later." Ushijima looked at him hard. "For now, Futakuchi is our main priority. Push everything else unnecessary aside, Iwaizumi. There are bigger things at stake here." 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi agreed, thinking of two men trapped underground and sentenced to death. “There are.” 

"That was moronic," Kae seethed, dragging Oikawa along by his arm, her fingers as sharp as the Shifter's talons biting into his arm. "I told you to drop him."

Oikawa dazedly obliged, allowing himself to be led. Absently, he wiped away the last remnants of blood on his brow, thinking, thinking, mind stuck on Hajime's expression as he'd left. The skin where talons had dug into him stung, but that was a thin thought, paling out next to everything else.

"Did you-" Oikawa gestured over to the Shifter, his mind full of Hajime, the press of his lips, the hesitation behind his hands, swirling over and over, capturing any words about anything else and ripping them up in the taste of Hajime's mouth. 

_...shitty time to kiss me._

The adrenaline from falling wasn't fading away. He still felt like he was on the verge of death, at any moment his body would meet hard rock and no amount of borrowed strength would save him from being crushed. He'd kissed Iwaizumi. 

Oikawa raked a hand back through his hair, exhaling in a shudder. He'd kissed Iwaizumi. He could feel his hand trembling in his hair, feel the last tinges of Iwaizumi's lips seeping away. The almost panicked last clasp of his wrist, how his emotions were all there, hung delicately on every feature of his face. 

Hajime had looked so _lost._

Kae began walking again, and Oikawa had to shake himself awake. He curled his stinging hand in his cloak, trying to soak up the blood from her spear. It struck him that she hadn't offered to heal him.

"Do you treat all of your advisors like that?" He stated coldly, and Kae narrowed her eyes. "Only the ones who kiss the enemy."

Oikawa pressed his traitorous lips together. "Believe it or not, you tend to re-evaluate your priorities when you're plummeting to your death. Considerate of you not to let me fall to the bottom."

He knew he was an almost essential piece to her plan. He had known that, but it was difficult to think logically when soil was crushed underneath your fingers and fear drowned out your mind. Kae's next words repeated the pathway of his own thoughts. 

".....I told them to not let you fall. I’m not a fool, I know the only reason Futakuchi agreed to entertain peace talks was because of your name. If you had died, Futakuchi’s son would’ve turned around with my last chances of an alliance.”

She shook her head viciously. The Shifter stumbled up to them on bare legs, holding a pillaged cloak around their shoulders. Oikawa murmured a distracted thanks as Kae continued, pinching her brow. 

“I thought you would choose your own life over his! That was idiotic, Oikawa. He's nothing in the grand scheme of things, and you're -"

"He's not nothing," Oikawa snapped back. "I am not valuing lives based on their contribution to this country -"

"You're valuing them based on how important they are to you, that's a lot more selfish," Kae answered, sure and confident. "I shouldn't have spared him. But you becoming uncooperative with me would've been a lot more troublesome." Her expression darkened. "More uncooperative."

Oikawa stepped backwards, adrenaline fading into a deep, pulsating anger. 

Kae must've seen his emotions on his face, because she sighed heavily, shaking her head. "We don't have time to argue about this now. Finish this fight, get Futakuchi and go." 

"Alright," Oikawa said through gritted teeth. He had to remind himself that Kae was still the greatest chance for positive change this country had. For now. 

He reached for his daggers and realised one was still missing, thudded into the dirt on the edge where Iwaizumi had disarmed him. His chest flailed. Eita's dagger. His hand spasmed around a hilt that should've been there, laying flat against his wrist, and his mind went blank. Six years. Six years he'd carried that dagger. He spun around, seeking where he and Hajime had fought, but they'd drawn too far away, bodies blocking his view. 

"You are not wasting more time going back," Kae snapped out, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face her. "I'll instruct the blacksmiths to fashion you a new dagger, if you even need it. Focus on Futakuchi. I'll go and find his captain, convince him how to move in order to win the fight. If Futakuchi won't listen to us, then we'll just bypass him."

Oikawa nodded absently, rubbing his hand over his aching wrist. The straps felt too light. He felt unbalanced, the weight of one dagger tilting him to the side. He could feel little flares of anger at Kae's words, but they were drowned out by the horrid sensation swamping his chest, the familiar fear. He'd lost another piece of Eita. 

"Futakuchi is over there, I think."

Her voice swam in Oikawa's ears. Straightening up, he tried to pull himself together - pull his emotions together, the electricity of kissing Hajime, the bogging loss of Eita's dagger, the residual adrenaline of plunging to his death only a few minutes ago. 

"Y - yeah," he managed to get out, and Kae's mouth thinned. 

"You don't have to kill anyone. Just get him, whether he wants to or not." She scratched at her wrist, then vanished briefly, blinking back before him with no injuries, no redness tainting her robes. "We've already wasted enough time here. I'll meet you by the same boulder we brought him to before. I'd be faster riding, but I lost my horse to that brute of a warrior." 

She addressed the Shifter next, who straightened at the attention. "You, reconvene with Bokuto. We'll meet you after this battle is won. Both of you clear?” 

Hollowly, Oikawa indicated that he understood. There were more deaths now. He could sense it, like inhaling a grey cloud dawdling over the area, sucking up souls and trapping them there, acrid, bitter, drying. It was getting harder to breathe, in both aspects of the word. 

From the dullness in Kae's eyes, he knew she sensed it too. Briefly, she reached out and squeezed his shoulder. A thin sliver of empathy. 

"We'll be out of here soon," she promised. A navy blue pulse passed through her irises. "Only a little longer. Come on."

Oikawa nodded as she turned tail, the noises of his environment being blotted out as he suppressed his Breath down as far as he could, flattening it against the lining of his lungs. He felt his fingertips numbing out, and he pressed his fingers together, hard. Kae left him behind, and it was Oikawa's fault, for moving too sluggishly. He smacked the side of his face, the sharp sting bringing some clarity into his mind. He couldn't afford to dawdle.

Okay. Okay, time to -

Something warm and moist splattered along Oikawa's side. 

Oikawa halted, shaking. He had heard of this happening to rookie Brickers who pushed themselves too far. Their bodies couldn't handle the pushback from the force released. It went inwards, then outwards. The bleeding from Bokuto's hands had been the start. Someone hadn't stopped there.

He could hear them screaming. Had it been an arm? A leg? Both? One of each? 

An Osole soldier ran towards him, and all Oikawa could think about was how badly he wanted to fold over and throw up. Fighting for control of his stomach, he unsteadily dragged himself out of the way of his first attack, pressing his mouth closed, the pressure on his back teeth causing his temples to pulse. He couldn't open it. He'd vomit. The blood and suffering stank of decay, and he attempted to stifle his Breath deeper within him, tumbling out of the way of another swing of the axe. Oikawa wanted the clothes off of him. Their screams, relentless and piercing, cut through his head. Their blood was too close to him for him to drown it out. 

Oikawa made a mistake. 

The axe reversed direction suddenly, and Oikawa was too distracted, too slow to realise what was happening, for his body to respond. He yanked himself backwards, the blade passing through his shirt, skittering across his chest, feeling a sharp pain, then warmth as hot blood soaked through the remains of his shirt, turning the red into a muddled pink. Landing on his ass, Oikawa tried to scramble backwards, his Breath instinctively rising into his mouth, and then he was overwhelmed with such a feeling of sickliness that he was forced to pitch sideways, throwing up only water. His body spasmed, trying to retch out the smell that wouldn't go away, the sensation of unnatural death that festered in his stomach. 

"I didn't expect it to be this easy," they said, and out of the corner of his eye, Oikawa saw them raise their axe.

"It's not." 

Spitting out the last of his puke, Oikawa dug his fingers into the earth and flung a clump of rocks up at their face. They didn't hesitate, still driving their axe downwards, but it was a blind, wild swing, and Oikawa managed to roll clear, scrambling to his feet.

He wiped bits of hanging, thick spit off of his mouth and chin. 

He could feel the wound on his chest dripping more blood, pain twisting through him with every motion, and cursed himself. He had tried so hard not to get blood on himself for this exact reason, and some idiot Bricker had to go and implode his limbs right next to him? Oikawa circled the soldier, whose eyes were narrowed underneath their helmet, blinking fast, hefting their axe with a practised ease that only made Oikawa warier. 

Oikawa lifted his dagger, seeking out an opening in their armour. His Breath was out. And despite himself, despite himself fighting back the memories of him, Hajime's words rose in him. 

_Relying on one tool all the time will get you killed._

Oikawa gritted his teeth. It hadn't been his fault he had been shoehorned into the healer role in most battles. At least the screaming had stopped - although Oikawa had an awful feeling that was because they'd been killed. An equally horrible feeling squirming in his lungs, where his Breath resided, confirmed that. 

The warrior lunged towards him again, this time with a frenzied purpose, as if instinctively knowing that they couldn't allow Oikawa to recover any more. Oikawa's legs tensed. 

Suddenly, they were rocketed backwards by an unseen force, the axe being ripped from their hands. Oikawa’s head whipped around. He could feel his eyes widening. Yahaba, bow in hand, sitting tall on a strawberry roan horse and wearing a mighty smirk, squeezed the horse's flanks. He lowered his straight arm, calling out proudly as he approached.

“You’re welcome, Oikawa-san.” 

“I told you not to come here!” Oikawa started, feeling the thunder of a shout stirring in his chest. 

“And when have I ever listened?” 

Simmering, Oikawa satisfied himself with clucking his tongue, reassuring himself that he'd chew Yahaba up later and spit him back out onto the streets for being so reckless. In the middle of a battlefield was not the proper time to be lecturing his student - ex-student - but...

“You little asshole,” Oikawa spat out, striding towards him. “You disobedient, self-directed, determined student. I should dismiss you right here and now-"

“I'm just what you taught me to be. You’re welcome for my saving your life, too.”

“I would’ve survived,” Oikawa argued back. One glance at the soldier confirmed that he was out of commission, a neat, circular hole punctured through his armoured shoulder. They groaned with an expression of almost half-disbelief, one hand lamely flailing at the hole in their body. 

"You're injured."

"They got lucky," Oikawa snapped back, looking down and skimming his fingers across the edge of his wound. It wasn't deep, the flow of white diminishing to only a slow ooze. 

"Mm, I'm sure they did," was Yahaba's response as he trotted over to him, and Oikawa rolled his eyes. 

He was going to _murder_ Yahaba once the fight ended. 

He sprinted the last paces over to him, siezing his horse by the reins. "Get down. If you're here, you're at least going to stick with me and follow my lead."

Yahaba complied, dismounting, and the instant he was on the ground, Oikawa swung himself up into the saddle. He offered Yahaba a hand, and pulled him up behind him, onto the rump. 

"Don't fall off," Oikawa instructed, and Yahaba nodded, already readying his bow again. With Oikawa leading, he could have all his attention focused on shooting - and hopefully, not being killed. Oikawa spurred the horse onwards, back into the froth of war. 

Futakuchi was easy to spot. 

He was the only idiot who had the dumb confidence to throw his shield up into the air, jump and catch it, and slam it down through some unfortunate while landing. There was something about his recklessness, backed up by power and genuine skill, that Oikawa would've respected if he was a decade younger. As it stood, he thought that Futakuchi was going to be killed in a moronic manner, from a fault of his own making. He also thought that it couldn't come soon enough. 

Drawing nearer, Oikawa noticed that he had locked blades with a white haired man that seemed stronger than the average Osole soldier, given that he was holding his own against Futakuchi. He fought with a sort of sureness, no hesitation that Oikawa could pick up on. Maybe, he mused, cantering towards them, that's why he was lasting so long. Neither of them doubted their actions.

Too bad he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

"Yahaba," Oikawa called back over his shoulder, and Yahaba nodded, pulling back the string of his bow. "Got it."

Slowing, Oikawa waited, trotting closer, pressing his ankles against the sides and reining the horse back to lengthen their stride, hopefully making it smoother for Yahaba to aim. He heard Yahaba suck in a long breath behind him, then whisper, and the string twanged. 

His Breath caught the man in the shoulder, whose eyes cut up to them for a trok before being pressed back by Futakuchi's relentless attacks. His arm hung loose by his side. 

"Again," Oikawa instructed Yahaba, this time slowing to a walk. "Track their movements. Predict where he's going to step, and aim for the neck."

"I know how to shoot," Yahaba gritted out, then summoned his Breath. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Oikawa could see the air settling onto the string, lightly touching Yahaba's middle finger as he focused. 

He let go. 

The man snapped backwards, and the arrow buried itself in a plate of armour beyond him. 

Oikawa barely registered Yahaba's exclamation of surprise, because he was midway through his own. 

"How in baratrum -" Yahaba began, and Oikawa clicked his tongue. 

"He's experienced. Experienced enough to be able to see Breath in the air, like Hajime. Eventually, people learn what to look out for and can dodge it." 

“At that speed?” 

“He was expecting it.”

"Well, that's fucking annoying," Yahaba grumbled, and Oikawa released a short laugh, edging nearer to them, still with blades locked close. 

He couldn't stop himself looking for Hajime still - if he fell in battle here, and Oikawa could've saved him - Oikawa shook the thought from his head. Hajime was strong. He wouldn't let himself be defeated here. Not when Oikawa had promised to come for him. 

_I havve a few things to do first._

Oikawa felt a slight frown crease his brow, directing the horse as Yahaba kept aiming, picking off soldier after soldier behind the young man with bizarrely grey hair. What had he meant by that? An arrow sped towards him, and Oikawa leaned backwards, almost knocking Yahaba off of their mount. 

Yahaba's hand grabbed the back of the saddle, steadying himself. "It would be nice if you could ride a little…. smarter, Oikawa-san."

"No need for that," Oikawa retorted back, and he banished those lingering reflections with difficulty. “It’s not my fault horses despise me.” 

It wasn't as if he could ask Iwaizumi what he meant now, anyways. 

He refocused on his task, slowly circling to the centre, where he kept catching glimpses of white and a long, glinting shield. From what he could gather, two of them had teamed up to try and challenge Futakuchi - and it appeared like they were succeeding. Oikawa ground his back teeth. 

He heard a retch from behind him, and took a precious moment to glance back, seeing Yahaba with his palm folded close over his mouth. Ah. 

Oikawa gave him a grim smile. "So you have improved. That's what you wanted to smell, isn't it? Why you disobeyed me and followed us here anyway? Wasn't it worth it?"

In response, Yahaba bent to the side and threw up. Wrinkling up his nose, Oikawa turned back around, hoping that he managed to miss the horse's legs. Well, he wanted to come. He'd have to teach him how to suppress his Breath once they got back. 

Filing away the thought, Oikawa surveyed the situation - neither side was giving, ordinary soldiers hacking from above the safety of their shields. He craned his head back, noticed how more soldiers were coming and sighed. Futakuchi would be overwhelmed soon if Kae didn't speak to his captains in time to relaunch an organised attack. Even if she made it in time, there was no way the remainder of his forces could make it over here before the Osole did. 

Oikawa turned around to Yahaba, who was wiping his mouth clean. "You ride. I'll get Futakuchi." 

He handed over the reins and spun a leg over the horse's neck, landing firmly. Riding without a long-ranged weapon was a pain. He'd stand a much greater chance of doing damage and not having his legs cut off on the ground. 

"Good luck, Oikawa-san," Yahaba called down, shifting forwards into the saddle. 

"Did you think to bring normal arrows?" Oikawa asked, resting his hand on the horse's neck. 

Yahaba coloured. "I - um… I didn't realise the smell would be so strong. I think I can handle it, though. I'll just have to stop and gag every so often."

Oikawa looked up at him, and Yahaba avoided his gaze, squirming a little against the leather seat. "Or… I guess I could scout for arrows around the field."

Patting the damp fur, Oikawa nodded. "Be careful, and don't push yourself. When you're Breathing, you're vulnerable."

As he watched him go, he hoped that it would also keep him out of the main radius of danger.

Reaching for his daggers, he felt his fingers pang at finding only one, like the space where it should be physically hurt. He hefted the other, tightening his grip on it as if holding it harder would compensate for the ache. Oikawa threw himself into a run, his muscles beginning to groan. As a test, he swelled up his Breath, and instantly his gut jerked, revolting, pulsing. 

Shit. Looked like he would have to make do with Hajime’s ways.

Oikawa slammed into the side of the Osole, gripping the outermost soldier by his helmet and yanking them downwards. With his other hand he rammed his dagger through their shoulder, sinking it up to the hilt. Their cry bored through the general clatter, and attention turned to Oikawa as he tugged out his blade, deflecting a lousy attack from them, a desperate shove of their shield. One of Futakuchi's number saw the opening and lunged, sword sticking out from the side of her shield, and found its mark in the other's arm. They were crying now, and Oikawa felt a prickle of sympathy as he knocked their blade free, both arms wounded and hanging, only able to manage a pathetic twitching. 

"Hm, you don't mind if I take this, do you?" Oikawa asked lightly, grabbing the top of their shield as they attempted to retreat back into their allies. 

He dragged them forwards, and lifted up their unresisting arm, untying their shield. "Sorry, I need it. You understand fully, don't you?"

He flashed them a bright grin, and, the shield freed, kicked them backwards, back into the cluster of Osole. Oikawa reckoned he might've felt worse if they generally weren't assholes. As it stood, he felt mildly uncomfortable as he strapped his newly procured shield around his left forearm. They'd still live, if they were smart. And now, hopefully so would he.

"Alright, where's this asshole?" Oikawa murmured out, and dove into the fray. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i've had this kiss festering inside my skull for a year. feels good to get it out.if only a kiss solved shit. buckle up buckeroos  
> if you have the means and would like to support me, you can do so[ here! ](https://twitter.com/spikyiwaizumi)
> 
> everyone bow down to skai for this work of art i think i've stared at it for twelve solid hours now, thank you so much


	20. Kuebiko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuebiko  
> n. a state of exhaustion inspired by an act of senseless violence, which forces you to revise your image of what can happen in this world.  
> (from dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [points at iwa simps] this one's for you, folks. sorry oikawa fuckers. 
> 
> master list of all tlk fan works [ here](https://twitter.com/i/events/1343997254693236743?s=20) (come on. check it out there's new fanart and some goddamn bangers in there)

Ushijima's eyes skirted past Iwaizumi, and he stepped forwards, kneeling into the dirt to collect something. Iwaizumi frowned, Ushijima's wide, armoured back blocking what he was picking up. As he straightened, recognition swept through Iwaizumi.

"This is Eita's work," Ushijima said, slipping the dagger into his belt. It rested snugly over his hip. "It shouldn't be left abandoned on a battlefield." 

Iwaizumi stared at the dagger. It still had a thin dribble of crimson along the edge, a little hint of blood hardening into the grooves of the hilt. He reached out towards it, as if some of Oikawa's warmth would still be on it. 

Ushijima's voice snapped him awake. 

"We should reconvene with the others."

Iwaizumi dropped his hand, gaze skimming down the pierced holes in Ushijima's armour, the red on his padded shirt. "I think you should go to a healer. They aren't letting up."

"I'll be fine."

Ushijima took a step and stopped, blinking hard as if he concentrated enough, the end of his sword would stop swaying. Blots of red crept along the lining of his clothes, slow but sure, and Iwaizumi felt a little trickle of guilt run down his spine - perhaps, if he hadn't been so caught up in Oikawa, he could've helped Ushijima in his fight. And yet, he knew if he was back there, knowing the consequences, he'd make the same choice. The shame dissipated.

He heaved Ushijima's arm around his shoulders, and Ushijima drew in a shuddering breath. "I can fight."

"I know," Iwaizumi replied. "But for now, save your strength."

They had found that Ushijima's gift of resistance was applicable to a lot of situations- almost annoyingly many. Being resistant to damage was one. Resistance to bleeding out, however…

Iwaizumi cast his eye over the situation. It looked like the Osole outnumbered Futakuchi's forces - especially now, when the survivors of Bokuto’s attack had regrouped - but they were more drained, their movements weakened. Even, he judged. A last ditch effort on both sides as the afternoon waned into evening.

It killed him to be here, but he couldn't leave Ushijima wounded and vulnerable. 

……..Could he?

Oikawa wished that Futakuchi wouldn't be awkward for once in his damned short life. 

He fought ferociously, so intensely that even his own soldiers kept at least a sword-length away from him, and yet he was still losing. Oikawa would've rolled his eyes if he had the energy and time to take his attention off of the enemy for a single trok. He wasn't used to wielding a shield, and the extra protection it gave him was almost offset by how clunky it made him feel, unable to duck and weave through strikes as he would've liked. That might've worked for when everyone was more spread out, but here he felt like he couldn't turn without bashing into a shield or being forced to swing the shield around to block a strike. 

Futakuchi's bodyguard was doing his job, keeping anyone from flanking him, but unable to help Futakuchi himself. His sword flashed, narrowly avoiding being caught by the hurtling chain of a flail.

Slamming aside a nameless body, Oikawa's scope of vision widened, and he felt cool air brush over his lips as he sucked in a breath. He knew that grey-haired young man, the second-in-command from the second attempt they'd taken on Oikawa's life. Oikawa scanned around, but he couldn't find any sign of the one he'd thought of as their leader - had he been replaced? 

Either way, Oikawa thought, watching how the grey one handled his flail, the smashing louder than even the chaotic cacophony of battle, he's going to be trouble, too. He clicked his tongue. It pissed him off, how much hatred fashioned people into high-level fighters. He forged forwards, but progress was slow, the lines clashing together dense and thick. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Futakuchi strike, managing to disarm the man with the edge of his shield, sword thudding to the earth. His blade sped towards the man's neck, the unguarded stretch between metal. Oh, Oikawa thought dimly. It's over. 

Until the sound of metal biting into flesh reached him, until he wasn't hit with the stench of a fresh death wound. He'd caught it, edge halfway buried in his palm, without a flinch. Rivulets of blood streamed down his hand and into his sleeve as he shoved it to the side, so forcefully that Futakuchi almost lost hold of it, wheeling to the side.

He flicked his palm full of blood upwards, into Futakuchi’s face. As he reared back instinctively, the other took advantage and slammed a shoulder into his chest. A crack reached Oikawa, the sound of metal denting. Futakuchi stumbled backwards, his chest plate already reforming itself in a silver of movement, like a ripple of light across the metal. In the moment of freedom, the Osole bent down and removed a tiny blade from his boot. 

The Osole gave him no time to recover, pressing forwards with close attacks Futakuchi barely deflected, trying to get back into his aggressive rhythm. With every attempt, the man would interrupt his motion, sending Futakuchi off balance again. Sprays of blood spun out from his hand. 

Oikawa glided closer. He would intervene when he had to. For now, he was going to observe. 

Despite that, he couldn't pick up on any twitches, any nervous hesitation, any particular quirks of the soldier. His attacks were solid, no wavering of his muscular arms, none of the regular battle anxiety shining through his eyes. Yet there was a lack of bloodlust, too - the way he fought reminded Oikawa of sparring matches between high-up warriors he'd seen - the ease and comfortableness of being in a familiar environment, but still containing the desire to win. 

Recognition wormed through Oikawa, unwelcoming and unnerving. How had he not remembered before? Of his past three run-ins with the Osole, he had always simply been an observer, but the shock of white hair was difficult to forget. Oikawa had always seen it as strange that someone who must've been mistaken for a magicker before - if he wasn't one - and subjected to the same experiences joined them. 

Exhaling, Oikawa stabbed up through someone's stomach, feeling warmth splash over his drenched gloves as he withdrew. It didn't matter what his story was. What mattered that he was in his way. The forced thoughts did nothing to soothe the writhing in his gut. 

Futakuchi was getting his ass beat. 

He spat out blood, vicious and quick, hitting armour like arrows, and raised his shield just in time for someone's blade to spark against it. He managed to sweep it to the side, digging his own sword around his shield, but without much success. Oikawa held back a grin. It was refreshing to see Futakuchi trapped on the defensive side for once. 

Gradually, Oikawa became aware of Futakuchi’s forces, split off because of the chasm, filtering back around the sides, closing the Osole in. Kae must’ve reached the captains. Finally, some proper instruction. He knew it wasn't easy to gather a scattered army, but maybe if their leader's son was present they would've pulled together easier -

He felt a familiar pressure. 

Parrying away a spear, Oikawa killed the flare of fear in his chest. 

Bokuto wasn't here for him. 

He felt the mood shift completely - some Osole soldier broke away, wide-eyed and heads spinning, knowing the power, familiar with the consequences. 

He turned and saw Bokuto standing just beyond their back line, his eyes a ravishing white. Oikawa felt his face crease. Where was he going to direct his power? Everyone was so muddled unlike before - 

He received his answer when Bokuto drew his sword, nodding at Oikawa. He kept one hand out and free, and as soon as someone dared to approach him, they were flattened to the ground in an instant, vicious and fast. Oikawa winced, hearing someone's helmet clatter against a rock. The other side of him was calmly analysing and noting - long range, spread out, slow, a gradual weight. Close range, concentrated, fast, heavy. 

They began backstepping from Bokuto, lingering on the groaning bodies he left behind him. 

"How can I help?" Bokuto asked him, reaching the point in mere moments it had taken Oikawa minutes to get to, and Oikawa twisted up his lips. They'd won.

He pointed to the man bearing down on Futakuchi. "He's quite a bit of trouble, wouldn't you say?" 

As Bokuto lifted his hands again, Oikawa saw the slow trickle of blood down his palms, and he felt his chest crack inwards with a sharp inhale, recalling what happened to the Bricker earlier. Sheathing his dagger quickly, his hand shot out, tightening around Bokuto's leather-clad wrist. 

"Wait. Let me heal you first."

He didn't wait for Bokuto to respond. 

_ "Confervo." _

Bokuto's face morphed into something resembling pain, but it passed quickly. 

"So that's what it's like," he said, and Oikawa blocked a strike, regaining his breath. It gave him a moment to think, too, about how strange it was that someone maybe from the North had never been healed by a Breather before. "I didn't realise that it would hurt."

Bokuto put out a hand, and the one challenging Oikawa was incapacitated. Once again, Oikawa found himself feeling glad that Bokuto was by his shoulder. How would he contain him if they were enemies? Oikawa passed the thought aside. Not the time. 

“It was either that, or you could've torn yourself open from the inside out,” Oikawa said quietly. 

"Then thank you!" Bokuto said, face rounding with a brief smile. "I've never done something as big as this before, but Kae said I could do it, because of how big my white is."

Oikawa bit down on the inside of his cheek. Kae. How far was she willing to press people? Oikawa was one matter. He could handle it. But others like Bokuto? A disquiet coiled around his lungs, but a bang echoed in his head, and he flinched, glancing over to the source. 

Futakuchi's fight. Of course. 

The Osole ducked a strike, slamming the hilt of his sword into Futakuchi's armour again, over his collarbone. It dented further, the shimmering increasing as it tried to blend it over. It didn't get a chance. The end of the hilt rammed into the metal again with a punishing crack, and the fractures split wider into a gap. Futakuchi reeled backwards, dazedly glancing down at the opening in his armour, and the Osole's dagger whipped back. 

“Bokuto," Oikawa hissed out. "Help him-"

Bokuto's hand was already out. A moment later, the Osole was pounded to the earth, legs awkwardly splayed, arms trapped under his own body, and Futakuchi let out a loud whistle, head whipping towards them. "Impressive, but that was my guy!"

"You were losing!" 

"Who cares, he was my fight!"

Futakuchi's mouth opened, the beginnings of a laugh forming on his face as he jammed his shield upwards against the underside of an arm, sending it up out of the way, his blade stabbing forwards. By the gods - he was still going for the kill?

He lunged, and Oikawa flung himself towards him, shedding his shield. His fingers closed around Futakuchi's wrist and yanked it back just in time. The end of his sword dipped down under Bokuto's force, and his cry shot through Oikawa's skull as he toppled backwards, losing his balance. His shoulder slammed into the ground, his armour sealing over the fractures gradually. 

"Do you want to be crushed?" Oikawa hissed out, watching how Futakuchi's teeth clenched as he sat upright, trying to straighten his awkward shield. 

"What the fuck, I had him -"

"You are not immune to Bokuto's power," Oikawa said, and he suppressed the urge to slap Futakuchi. "If you tried to stab him and overreached, your arm would've been trapped with him, and I daresay that's the best case scenario. If you were lucky, it wouldn't have been torn off."

"I was going to pull back-"

"I don't want to hear your reasoning," Oikawa hissed out. 

"Well, you fucked up my shoulder anyways, so what was the point of that?" Futakuchi bit back, slipping his right hand out of his shield to clamp a palm over his shoulder, flinching as he hesitantly rotated it.

"You'll survive," Oikawa said. "Now come on."

As he reached down for Futakuchi, a spear appeared out of the corner of his eye, and Oikawa jerked his body out of the way, the head skimming close to his ribcage. 

An arrow shot past his ear in a swirl of wind and lodged itself firmly in the neck of his opponent. Oikawa spared a quick glance to the side, locating Yahaba, his belt littered with bloody arrows, some half-cracked, the end of a notched arrow by his chin, aiming down the length of the shaft. A little bit of relief loosened his chest, and he skidded underneath a slash, returning the gesture with a strike to their wrist. Eita's blade cut through the leather with ease, and Oikawa hastily left the cries behind him. 

Futakuchi winced as Oikawa grabbed his forearm, hauling him up to his feet. Oikawa cast a quick glance at his shoulder, but he couldn't discern anything majorly wrong. Good. He didn't want Futakuchi bitching at him all the way back. He shoved the soldiers who didn't get out of the way aside, intent on having this over with as fast as possible.

"I don't know where Kamasaki is," Futakuchi said, turning his head back to the front line. "But I'd like to find him -"

"No," Oikawa said. "My job is to protect you and you alone. If we go off running all over the battlefield for him, that wouldn't be very smart, would it now? He was paid to protect you. He wouldn't want you doing the exact opposite just to find him."

"That doesn't matter!" Futakuchi argued back, squirming in Oikawa's grasp. "He can't guard me if he doesn't know where I am!"

"He'll find you," Oikawa replied, squeezing Futakuchi's wrist in a warning. "If he's worth what your mother pays him, that is." 

“Fine. I’ll find Kamasaki myself.” 

Futakuchi twisted in Oikawa's hand and slipped free before Oikawa could increase his hold fast enough. 

“Fuck the gods,” Oikawa cursed, hard and strong as he spun back around. “That  _ ikol.  _ Does nobody listen to logic around here? If everyone listened to me everything would work out a lot smoother.” 

By the time he had fought his way back through the soldiers who wouldn't fucking move out of his way, it was already over. The bodyguard was breathing hard, Futakuchi cawing by his shoulder as if he had done all of the work and not arrived only moments before Oikawa. 

The enemies were, quite literally, crushed. As Oikawa had suspected, the fight hadn't lasted long as soon as Bokuto arrived. 

Futakuchi's expression drained of all lightheartedness as he approached them, nudging them with his toe. "Hm." He glanced back at Kae. "Where'd you get him? I'd like to have one. Handy to have around, eh?"

Kae gave him a curt nod. "Order your men to retreat." She gestured behind them, where his troops were sitting down, or milling about, sorting through the bodies. "There's nothing more to do here."

Drawing his gaze over the defeated, Oikawa only saw a group of barely moving soldiers. It was like their armour had grown heavier, but the smell was too potent for that. 

The one challenging Futakuchi earlier had been ripped into. Oikawa didn't think it was in character for Bokuto to beat someone already defeated, and he silently evaluated the fresh blood on Futakuchi's sword hilt to the colour of the blood matting the white top of his hair. He was being kept on his feet by another soldier who was trying to limp away, the one Oikawa recognised, the previous second-in-command.

Oikawa toyed with the idea of killing him. It hadn't been directly him who had made Oikawa's life difficult, but… would it give him some closure? Some justice?

It didn't last for long. One inhale reminded Oikawa of the death surrounding him, and how he was already no more innocent than them. 

Futakuchi hopped over to them, tapping one on the shoulder. "Hey. You don't think you're just walking away from this, do you?"

"Futakuchi," Oikawa called out. "They have no chance of coming back from this. It's pointless to continue."

The grey one took a swing at Futakuchi, his flail whipping out at an impressive speed, but Futakuchi only ducked and danced away, letting out a low whistle. "They don't seem to think so."

The bodyguard sighed, sheathing his sword. "He only wants to tease them. It's a shitty habit of his."

"I'm surprised that the grey one backed off," Oikawa commented, and the corners of Kamasaki's mouth tightened. "He seemed more concerned with helping his comrade. As disgusting as their beliefs are… I couldn't bring myself to put them out of their misery."

"Hm. I don't think your heir has the same mercy." Oikawa watched impassively as Futakuchi's impish grin spread, as the slings of the flail slowed, as the injured one slumped further.

"Doubt it."

On the next attack, they turned, and Oikawa got a longer chance to examine the one who had stood on equal ground with the heir of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world. His drooping eyes were a golden brown, blood trailing down the bridge of his nose, and yet, slung on the shoulders of a taller man, he still carried an air of dignity around him. 

He was going to die from his wounds. Oikawa could smell it, the rising particles of half-ripened fruit, stuffing up the back of his throat. The man met his eyes, and he saw that he wasn't afraid of death. The grey one supporting him glared at Oikawa. His hatred smelled like charred flesh. 

If he healed him, Oikawa would probably die, and he wasn't ready to give up his life yet. 

Not when Hajime had kissed him back. 

He watched Futakuchi play with them a few troks longer, his teasing retorts grating on his ears, then sighed. He'd had enough of this. As he turned away, Kae's palm hit his shoulder, and Oikawa felt a spurt of anger dart through him. She'd dictated what he was doing enough. There was no way he was -

Before he could speak, Kae's eyes skipped over them. "That's the man who was leading the battalion."

Oikawa spoke carefully, considering what she was getting at. "He is."

A smile cut across her face. "He's coming with us. An ordinary healer should be able to patch up his wounds and keep him alive."

"Yes… " Oikawa conceded slowly, examining Kae's expression, her irises flickering a greedy, royal blue. "But is he worth it?"

"They sent assassins after us, and tried to capture Futakuchi. I think it's justified if we take something of theirs, do you not?"

"Don't you fucking dare." 

The grey man spoke like his tongue was a spear. He began raising his flail, but before his shaking hand could get far, Kae Breathed, her oil darting through the air. It punctured his forearm as if it was a wisp of cloud. With a curse, his arm dropped again, the flail burying itself in the upturned dirt. 

Kae raised a hand. "Bokuto, if you could do the honours."

"Of course."

Again, the dark heaviness in the atmosphere, pressing down on Oikawa's tongue. And again, a man crumpled to his knees in front of them, losing his hold of his comrade. His fists could barely quiver as Kae stalked over to the other, folded over on himself. His breathing was shallow and quick.

"Oh, we're daring."

Kae gripped the injured one's arm and hauled him to his feet. He tried to stumble away, a hand coming up to shove her away, but his movements were slurred, dozy, and she easily brushed his attempted attack away. 

Oikawa saw the grey one strain under Bokuto's pressure, but Bokuto grunted, and his arms shook, his fists wavering even more. There was more red than ever dripping out from between his fingers, and Oikawa wondered exactly where Bokuto's limit was.

“And you’re lucky that I’m not skinning him in front of you, for all that you’ve done.” 

“Kill me.” The Osole's words blazed, and Kae threw her head back in a sharp cackle.

“And make you a martyr? To prove to your following that magickers are as awful as you say we are?”

She leered closer. “No.” 

"You can prove that by letting Kita go."

"No." Yanking back Kita’s head, Oikawa heard the bones crack in his spine. “You’re going to stay quiet and go back into hiding with the last of your pathetic survivors. This was your last desperate attempt, and you failed. Accept it.” 

Blood leaked down the side of Kita's face, and Kae flicked the droplet away with a blank expression. "I'll take him as a reminder." 

Oikawa could see the trapped Osole's neck shiver, his whole back quivering, the muscles of his neck and jaw standing out underneath his skin, and wondered if it was like being crushed, suffocated, or both. Under his furious gaze, Kae handed Kita over to Bokuto to carry, and picked up a nearby abandoned sword. She smashed the hilt into the crown of their leader's head. 

As soon as he sagged over, crimson trickling down the side of his nose, they began the trek back. 

Iwaizumi couldn't think clearly. 

He vaguely knew that they were rejoining the others, to reunite for one last push towards Futakuchi, but he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. Despite Ushijima's reduced pace, Iwaizumi was lagging behind, his body physically healed thanks to Oikawa's Breath, but there was something still dragging at him. 

Suddenly, Ushijima's back was far too close to his face, and Iwaizumi reeled back a step, blinking fast. He couldn't be zoning out here. Coming to Ushijima's shoulder, he realised that he was focusing intently on something. 

"What is it?" 

Ushijima's eyes were caught on a group of people, lingering after them. Squinting, Iwaizumi felt a bolt of apprehension spread through him, even before Ushijima spoke. "There's Futakuchi. He's heading back this way. We can cut him off."

Iwaizumi closed his eyes. "No."

"What?"

Ushijima went for his blade, and Iwaizumi's hand shot out, gripping his wrist. They shared a moment, time split and cracking down the middle.

"I thought," Ushijima started. "I thought you were only biased towards Oikawa, not the cause. If he means that much to you, I won't kill him unless he gets in my way. But we need Futakuchi."

Iwaizumi increased his hold, dimly aware of a heat flaring up behind his eyes. "I don't expect you to understand. But I'm not letting you try to capture him."

He saw Ushijima's gaze swipe past him, likely tracing their route, timing it against his own pace. Ripping his arm from Iwaizumi's grasp, he drew his blade. Iwaizumi stepped into his path, drawing his. 

"You're a traitor."

"Looks like I am."

It didn’t feel as heavy as Iwaizumi had imagined. 

Iwaizumi lifted a palm and Bricked, blasting Ushijima head-on. Ushijima was only driven back a step, his olive eyes narrowing against the gale. "Being a magicker is one thing. Stopping us from achieving our goal is another. Do you really want to do this? I'm giving you a second chance, Iwaizumi."

"And I'm giving you a chance to think this over," Iwaizumi answered, sinking down into a stance that said he already knew Ushijima's reply. 

Ushijima's greatsword angled to the side. 

In response, Iwaizumi lunged forwards, a heat searing behind his eyes and wind tearing at his hair. 

Oikawa and Kae were brought replacement horses from the remainder of Futakuchi's higher-ups. Oikawa saw them grumble about it, but one (apparently) lighthearted word from Futakuchi caused their faces to straighten, posture rigid. Oikawa cocked an eyebrow as he took the reins of the horse. It seemed like Futakuchi had grown as a leader, even if he was as much of a bastard as before. 

His attention was diverted by the horse pawing the ground, shuffling away from him, and Oikawa felt annoyance run through him, attempting to pat their neck, but it cavorted around. His hand flowed through nothing, fingertips just grazing damp fur. 

"Fucking thing," Oikawa hissed out, and behind him, he heard a snort. 

Yahaba stepped up beside him, easily approaching the horse and rubbing their neck. "Here. I'll hold them for you while you mount."

Handing over the reins, Oikawa mounted swiftly, despite the ikol moving while only one of his feet was in the stirrup. Yahaba followed suit with his own mount, and they clumped together, Futakuchi's commanders discussing their disengagement behind them. Oikawa drummed his fingers along the leather of the reins. The atmosphere stank, and he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. 

Something rippled across the expanse, something that made Oikawa raise his head and pay attention. A wind started up, cracking across the battlefield, sending soldiers surging sideways, some stumbling and regaining their balance, some dropping to their knees. Oikawa felt tiredness cling to his skin too, and was glad he wasn't in the midst of it. 

In the middle, two men were fighting. 

The hairs on the back of Oikawa's neck prickled, and he knew it wasn't from the chill of the air, or the stench soaking into the earth, branding it. It was the sensation of familiarity. 

"What the fuck is that?" Futakuchi said, glancing across to Kae. "One of yours?"

"No." Oikawa's mouth was dry. "That's not one of ours. Or yours."

"Huh? Who is it then?"

"It's Iwaizumi Hajime." 

His whole, full name felt heavy on Oikawa's lips. He worried that his voice gave it away, the thickness of it impossible to mistake for any simple friendship, but nobody reacted. 

"Who?" Futakuchi asked, then shrugged. "Whatever, who cares. They're not gonna come after us now - they can't get through those winds without trouble."

"It doesn't matter if they do or not. We've won," Kae stated, and her hand outstretched, fingertips ghosting over the back of the white-haired hostage, unconscious and tied to the neck of her strong mount. 

"We've won," she repeated, and Oikawa was sure he saw black rot creep up further, to under her ear. 

It had to be his imagination. He looked away, back towards Hajime. 

He had meant what he said. He would come for him. The only thing holding him back from riding down there and grabbing him was Hajime's vague words. 

_ I have a few things to do first. _

Oikawa felt his nose crinkle up. What had he meant by that? Had he been referring to this instant, or something beyond? 

"Oikawa. Time to go," Kae said coolly. "If he's this powerful, he'll be able to handle himself. And he isn't your responsibility."

She nudged her horse onwards, and Oikawa reluctantly steered away from the fight. His hands felt lethargic, too loose on the rein, as if unconsciously molding to the form of someone else's fingers. 

Yahaba rode up beside him, leaning over with knitted brows. "Will Iwaizumi-san be okay? He… didn't exactly have the best control last time this happened."

"Who cares?" Oikawa said airily, waving a hand. "If he loses control, all he hurts are those assholes."

He felt Yahaba stare at him a moment too long before answering. "Aren't those the people he grew up with?"

"He'll be fine," Oikawa told him, and he sharpened his words into an edge, gaze slicing over to Yahaba. "We don't need to worry about him."

Yahaba held his gaze, squinting at him. "You were asking me about dating -"

"Shut up," Oikawa hissed out. "He'll be fine. I trained him, after all."

Yahaba gave him one last look. "Like that counts for anything."

"You're still alive, aren't you?"

Rolling his eyes, Yahaba was about to respond when he had to abruptly halt to avoid bumping into the back end of Futakuchi's mount. 

Futakuchi had stopped, gazing back at the dismal excuse for a battlefield. There were only the occasional clashes now, with most soldiers picking over the dead, what was left of each side clumping together in small groups.

"Tell me something."

The rest of them halted shortly after, Oikawa exchanging a glance with Kae. Luckily, it turned out that it was a rhetorical question. Futakuchi answered himself. 

"Why are we leaving any of them alive? Why are we the ones standing back?" Futakuchi asked, and his dark eyes swallowed the winds. "They'll just cause more discourse later, won't they? So why are we only taking a hostage to keep them in check? I could order my captains to-"

Riding up beside him, Oikawa demanded Futakuchi's focus with a snap of his fingers. "You're prolonging this longer than necessary. They have no choice but to retreat after these losses. Their formation is broken, their moral gone, their commanders wounded. They're done. And yet, you still insist on endangering the rest of your own men for the sake of pride? Take your victory and go."

"You mean, half-ass this battle?" 

"It's not half-assing, it's called acting on your oversized ego," Oikawa retorted back. His horse threw up his head, skirting backwards, and Oikawa held back a string of insults towards the insolent ikol. 

When he glanced back, Futakuchi was glowering at him. 

"You might think your reputation protects you from my mother's wrath, but I don't give a shit about reputation. All I see is a man out of line." 

Futakuchi caught Oikawa's wrist, his thumb depressing deep into the side, in between the little bones. He was stronger than Oikawa remembered, grown from the boy of eighteen he knew. With a slight shiver, Oikawa also recalled how they kept order within their ranks. 

"Shame to waste this, really," Futakuchi commented, and he slipped a little of his sword out of the sheath. “You have lovely hands.”

Holding Futakuchi's gaze, Oikawa noticed the thickness of the shadows beneath his eyes. 

"Tch." Oikawa clicked his tongue, and yanked his wrist from his grasp. “Bluffing isn’t a good look on you. I’m not under your command.”

“That doesn’t mean you can disrespect me in front of my captains. You want my cooperation to form a treaty, don't you?” Futakuchi winked at him. "Better play nice."

Holding his tongue, Oikawa watched as Futakuchi slowly took his hand from his hilt, and lowered his voice, so it stayed between them. "You don't believe you could actually harm me, do you? You surely aren't that delusional."

"I've improved since last time," Futakuchi bit back, but his hand stayed by his waist, and his voice stayed to a light whisper. "Wait until we get back to the castle - I've been training with my mother's Breather. I know your tricks."

Oikawa snorted. "Fine. The pleasure of beating you is stronger than the torture of being in your presence. So…" he spread his arms, smiling. "What's your grand plan to wipe out the enemy completely and utterly? I expect to be blown away by your strategy, Futakuchi-sama. You didn't earn the title of commander for nothing, did you?"

"I'm getting to it-"

"Oh, don't let me distract you," Oikawa interrupted with an amiable smile. 

“Order your soldiers to fan out, Brickers first,” Kae said, coming up in between them, forcing them further away from each other. “I would advise to surround them fully, and then begin pushing them back towards the chasm. Close them in."

Futakuchi wasn't fast enough at covering up his displeasure. He shot Oikawa a flat look, then turned back to his captains to tell them what Oikawa suspected was the very advice Kae just gave him. Oikawa tried to breathe out the ice in his veins. He knew that was a good plan. It should work, and that terrified him. 

"I was under the impression you held more sway over the Futakuchi family," Kae commented, and Oikawa's fingers tightened on his reins. "Or at least cooperated with them to the point where they don't threaten to discipline you."

"I get along better with more civil members, such as his mother. Kenji has always resented how she listened to me over him, and it appears that that grudge hasn't faded over the years." 

"Well, I trust you to help him move past it."

The undercurrent was clear. Oikawa held in a sigh, satisfying himself with a single nod. As Futakuchi talked with his commanders, Oikawa kept a close eye on the foot soldiers who were summoned over to give orders - their gait, the designs of blood across their armour, how their hands moved. They dispersed with an efficiency as clean as the edges of their shields, and Oikawa felt dread gnaw at the bottom of his lungs. A few moments later, Futakuchi circled back to them, shifting his shoulder uneasily. 

"But you're staying here," Oikawa told him. "You're injured, and I refuse to heal someone who's just going to get wounded again."

"Mm. Don't think so. Don't think you can tell me to stay here, either. Sorry to break the news to you."

"Your soldiers will be just fine," Oikawa told him. "The Form is led by two supreme jesters. They're not going to recover from this."

"Where's the fun in standing back?" Futakuchi grimaced, rubbing his shoulder. "It's not fair either, for my soldiers to be risking their lives and I'm just lounging about, is it?"

"You're not returning there. Not after everything we've done to keep you safe."

"Hm, I don't think you can -"

Reaching out, Oikawa clasped Futakuchi's wrist and twisted. Futakuchi buckled forwards, his face contorting. "What the  _ fuck  _ is  _ wrong  _ with you?!"

His voice cracked, but he managed to hold it together, inhaling roughly against the pain. His commanders surged forwards, but he shot them a glare, one that said,  _ you're not fighting my battles for me.  _ Oikawa caught a glimpse of Kamasaki's strained jaw, his fist white on his hilt. 

"Does it feel like you can fight?" Oikawa hissed out. He couldn't let him back down there. He would push for every head on a spear, and if Oikawa had to choose between the possible stabilising of a better kingdom or Hajime… He didn't dare think about it. 

"Oikawa."

This time, Kae's words didn't sound like a formality. 

Oikawa eased up the pressure, but didn’t let him go completely. He wasn’t done. 

“Tell your captains to give orders not to hu -“

He paused, frustration running through him. Even if he passed along a description of Hajime, what were the chances that the soldiers would get to hear it? All of them? And in the savagery of battle, when you’re just trying to stay alive, orders about not killing would fly right out of your head. 

No. No, he couldn’t trust others with this. Not with Hajime. 

Oikawa let go, and Futakuchi straightened, massaging his arm. His gaze flickered across to Kae.

“Thought you were supposed to be the one in charge.” 

Kae’s chin lifted. 

"She is," Oikawa inputted breezily. “I’m just… how do you say… a free spirit.” 

He smiled thinly. 

"You're a free spirit who’s losing some skin for doing that," Futakuchi growled out, and drew his sword. 

"Futakuchi," Kae cut in. "He apologises."

Oikawa eyed the blade, one that seemed that it had drunk its fair share of pain. 

"I apologise, Futakuchi- _ sama, _ " he began, bowing the best he could on the horse. "My emotions got the best of me. I simply could not have you going back out there and endangering yourself again. You know as well as I do that your mother wouldn't approve of your actions. But you are your own person, although I beseech you to consider the  _ devastating  _ impact it would have on your men if you died."

Out of his peripherals, he saw Futakuchi's commanders nodding slightly, casting glances across to Futakuchi. Good. 

"Futakuchi," Kamasaki said. 

Futakuchi sheathed his sword. His face was full of barely contained disgust. He knew he was trapped - in front of his commanders, he would only cause dissent if they saw him punish an apparently genuinely apologetic man. "Never again will you speak to me in that manner."

Oikawa straightened, a sense of satisfaction sweeping through him. He had gambled - if Futakuchi had wanted to be seen as someone not to be crossed, Oikawa would have had to fight. But he knew, as coarse and egotistical as Futakuchi was, it wasn't how he wanted to rule. He was not his mother. 

"Of course not, your highness. I'm sure you're delighted to hear that I'll be taking my leave now."

“Where are you going?” Kae snapped out.

Oikawa gave her a little wave. “I’ll be back soon. Futakuchi needs to stay here to give his stupendous orders, right? So it won’t matter if I disappear for a bit. You won’t even notice that I’m gone.” 

He knew it was out of order. He could feel her displeased gaze boring in between his shoulder blades as he left. He only urged his horse onwards, eying up the faction positions. To hell with what he’d said about doing things first. Hajime couldn’t do shit if he was dead. 

Yahaba’s confused voice drifted over to him. “Do you need -“

“I’ll be just fine, thank you for your concern!” Oikawa called back. He held up a hand, hoping that would be enough to placate him, stop him from making another reckless decision.

The horse fought against him, frightened to go back into the middle of sharp objects and the scent of death. Oikawa got it, he did, but hadn't the horses been better trained than this? He urged it onwards, the point of his heel and the power of his hands unable to be denied. Feeling warmth trickle down his temple, he hissed in frustration, lifting a hand to try and stem the bleeding from the cut on his brow.

As Oikawa made his way downwards, he released a breath, one that didn't quite relieve all the tension in his chest. 

Ushijima and Iwaizumi were on equal footing, under normal circumstances. Ushijima being wounded and Iwaizumi freely wielding his White were not usual circumstances. Despite Ushijima being resistant, he wasn't completely immune. 

They circled each other, Iwaizumi breathing heavily, dribbles of sweat collecting at the base of his neck. He didn't want to hurt Ushijima. He would if he had to. 

From the way Ushijima was regarding him, it appeared like he knew that too. 

"We don't have to fight anymore," Iwaizumi maintained, lowering the tip of his blade a fraction. His shoulder was burning, even from the short few blows they'd exchanged. Even when wounded, Ushijima's strength was as prominent as ever. "Your chance is gone. Futakuchi's too far away for you to catch up."

"It would be better if you weren't able to interfere with our plans again."

Iwaizumi held back a sigh. He had always been so fucking  _ practical.  _ Hefting his sword, he swallowed down the uncomfortable heaviness of his spit and dove forwards-

"Hey! What the hell are you guys doing?" 

Iwaizumi felt a palm smack hard against his armour as Atsumu cleaved in between them, shoving them apart. "I don't know if you've noticed, but whatever you're squabbling over doesn't matter - we have a way, way bigger problem."

"He -" Ushijima started. 

"Yah, he's a skut, I know, I know, but we've got bigger issues."

Atsumu threw Iwaizumi a glare, and Iwaizumi kept up his guard, but Atsumu only spat on the ground at his feet, not moving to draw his weapon. "Well, do something useful. Help us survive, maybe? Just a friendly suggestion."

For the first time, Iwaizumi looked past Ushijima, relaxing his stance, taking stock of his surroundings. The scraps of soldiers had pulled together like beads on a well-oiled string, and Iwaizumi's skilled eyes picked out the runners, the ones passing orders along, and realised why Atsumu was not concerned about him being a magicker. They were being herded. 

The shields closed in around them, slow and steady. The formation reminded him of the traps he'd set up for raqs, looping tighter and tighter the more it struggled. 

Iwaizumi's eyes flashed from side to side, finding only the tightening of lines, the expert guidance as expected of a powerhouse kingdom with the scent of a kill in their mouths. They approached in a slow, steady semicircle. They had pushed Atsumu back all of this way?

"Why didn't you try to break through before now, when they were more spread out?" Iwaizumi asked, and Atsumu scowled.

"We were more spread out too, asshole. You try and gather up troops from an area this large."

"That's your job-" Iwaizumi started. 

He was interrupted by Osamu marching up to them, Akaashi a step behind. His entire forehead was smeared with trails of blood, the way his lashes flickered slightly woozy. 

"What happened to you?" Iwaizumi asked. 

"I was fighting who we actually have to fight," Osamu said through a dark glare. 

Ushijima looked around. "Kita isn't with you?"

"They took him." Osamu's jaw looked like it might break in half. "They fucking took him. Iwaizumi's little skut boyfriend swooped in and that white-haired bastard captured him."

Out of the corner of Iwaizumi's eye, Akaashi tensed up, but he stayed silent. Atsumu sucked in a deep breath. "Fuck."

"Is there no chance of retrieving him?" Ushijima asked, and Osamu clenched his fist. 

"We have to leave him for now. But if he's with Futakuchi, then we might have a hope."

"What? We're still going after that cunt?" Atsumu slipped in, aiming a glare at his brother. "Are you insane?"

"Do you have a spine? Have you really forgotten what he did for us?"

"Have you forgotten his whole personality?" Atsumu spat back. "He wouldn't want us putting the organisation at risk for him-"

Iwaizumi watched them squabble, aware of their final survivors huddling in close to them. He judged that there was maybe eighty of their number left, and their leader was bickering with his brother as spearheads inched closer. 

He grabbed Osamu's crumpled shoulder, wrenching him around to face him. “We have to retreat.” 

Osamu's nose wrinkled up. “No.”

“Don’t you see what they’re doing?" Iwaizumi hissed out. "They’re spreading out, surrounding us - if we get enclosed, our backs will be to the chasm, and we'll be trapped. If they use their shields and Brickers, they won't even have to risk their own men to wipe us out.” 

“If we back down here, we lose everything -“ Osamu snarled out, roughly knocking Iwaizumi's hand off his shoulder with the back of his forearm. 

“And if we don’t we’ll lose everyone," Iwaizumi shot back. "Read the battle, Miya. This isn't a battle of pride anymore. It's a fight for survival." 

"I fucking hate agreeing with the skut, but he has a point," Atsumu urged Osamu, and Osamu folded his arms across his chest. "So what? We flee?"

"That's literally what I've been saying!"

"They're going to slaughter us all," Iwaizumi insisted, staring down Osamu. "Your brother's right. We have to break away and run." 

"Cowards," Osamu muttered, but he wasn’t looking at Iwaizumi. "No wonder you never won a fight. You never could, and especially not when it counted."

“It’s different now. It's not our job to win fights,” Atsumu spat back. “It’s our job to protect people.” 

"We don't have time to argue about this!" Akaashi exclaimed. His eyes flashed over to the nearing men, a shimmer of fear widening his eyes. Their soldiers were huddling in closer around them, watching their leaders argue. 

"Akaashi's right. We have to break through," Ushijima determined, gaze spanning the perimeter of the tightening circle. "Now."

"It's already too late." Akaashi sounded hopeless. He raised a hand, attempting to wipe some dirt from his jaw with the heel of his palm. It only smudged back onto his cheek. "They've gathered in lines too thick. If we try to break out, we'll be crushed on all sides. We can't get through with the numbers we have." 

Iwaizumi inhaled, shouldering Osamu aside to face the approaching wall. "I can."

He might not be on their side anymore. He might not have the blind loyalty to them he once had. But he couldn't stand by and allow them to be slaughtered. The metal feet were close enough for him to hear the toes clink off of the back of their long shields. 

He drained his lungs the way Oikawa taught him to, and concentrated. The heat behind his eyes soared like a bonfire reaching the clouds, searing deep and thoroughly. Recalling how Bokuto directed his power with his hands, he extended his arms out in front of him. The line of shields shifted inwards, and he was dimly aware of his family drifting closer to him, the one bit of hope they had left. He heard vague scattered laughter at him - he was certain he looked ridiculous, especially as they knew that the Osole couldn't have a magicker on their side.

The air slid over itself, circling in a fluid stream, centering on Iwaizumi. 

He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching. No. No, this wasn't what he needed. He needed to focus it  _ forwards,  _ forwards and through. A clean, neat slice. The winds tightened around him, and his frustration grew, mirrored with the noise of the hollow whooshing of it threading through the hills, around the rocks, through the bodies. Forwards. 

He saw the line pause, clearly confused - weren't they supposed to be going up against ordinary people?

Closing his eyes, Iwaizumi remembered Oikawa's words during meditation. About feeling his breath, feeling the wind, the wind was his, it was part of him and he could do this, he controlled it, each and every gust was one of his limbs and if he just fell back into it -

His arms stopped vibrating. 

His wind vanished, and the air was still. His air. 

A smile cracked over his face. He'd done it. He'd paused the storm.

He felt it now, the threads and lines dipping and wavering through the air, the disruptions he caused with his Bricking, the way the air shuddered, as if reluctant to stop, to cease moving in this unnatural way according to his will. Inhaling, Iwaizumi gathered up the restlessness, the state around him looming towards chaos over the line of order, and sunk it into his palms. He could feel the inside of his skin boiling, like the feeling of before blistering, but he kept going, storing up as the air fought against him and the shield line marched forwards. 

Someone's hand rested on his shoulder, and he felt himself growing even calmer, a deep feeling of lavender spreading throughout his blood. Something soft, healing. 

His lungs began to burn, his hands feeling like his skin igniting. And as he exhaled, releasing the pressure, it all left him - his breath, the fermenting power, the weight on his shoulder. 

The blast drove into the solid wall, and it was like a hammer had swung through their ranks - men were thrown upwards and outwards, shocked cries tangling with the residual winds. There were cracks spreading across the shields ripped from arms, fractures appearing in armour struggling to stitch itself together again. There were no calls of action from the stunned captains. Yet.

Iwaizumi licked his lips. "NOW!" 

The Form responded to him, surging forwards towards the breach before it was sewn over with bodies again, and the Osole streamed after them, into the funnel.

Oikawa pulled up his mount, observing with a ferocious glint in his eyes. He tracked the width of the opening, the rate of them scrambling over fallen bodies to close it up, the sensation of the force lingering on his lips. It didn’t feel nearly as foreboding as Bokuto’s white, but it sure left an impact. 

Oikawa cracked a smile, coming to a halt. 

Maybe Hajime didn’t need his help after all. 

They needed another push. 

Iwaizumi's gaze was racing as fast as his heart. They weren’t quite yet clear. Some had broken past the line - the quick, opportunistic ones, but most were still engaged with Futakuchi's men on either side, pushing through but not fast enough. The shields crawled forwards, and for the first time in his life Iwaizumi felt claustrophobic, two giant steel hands furling around his tiny throat. 

His hands were vibrating, but he clenched them shut. He had enough energy left for more. He would get them through. Shoving his way to the front, he parried away a spear, keeping one hand free. He felt the sting of cold air against his ears, and gritted his teeth, trying his best to concentrate without being stabbed. 

"Oh, are you trying that thing again?" 

Iwaizumi's gaze flicked over to Atsumu, who was currently bracing against a shield, sweat rolling down the length of his nose and falling onto his bent knee. 

"Yeah." Iwaizumi cleaved through a shaft, sidestepping to Atsumu, pressing his shoulder to his to shelter underneath his shield. "You don't mind covering me while I save your life, do you?"

"Less witty statements, more saving using your bullshit skut powers," Atsumu muttered back, and the edge of Iwaizumi's mouth lifted. 

"Sure thing," he said, and took a breath. 

Again, it was swirling, spinning sideways, and Iwaizumi's nails bit into his palms. He couldn't afford to allow it to do what came naturally - he needed to Brick outwards.

Or…. 

“Tell them to tighten up. Stay as close to me as possible.” 

He kept pushing it in a circle, feeling the outside, feeding it more and more. It came naturally, this rotation, the sense of no eventual end. It made sense, he figured distantly, as he extended it a little, conscious of it buffeting Futakuchi's forces back now, strong enough for them to be leaning hard against the power. It was what came first to him at thirteen, after all. When he'd killed his grandmother's murderers.

Almost closing his eyes, he felt people huddle in around him, attracted to the stillness. Carefully, he gave another pulse, and something inside him lurched hard, but confused shouts were snatched away by the strengthening wind. Just a little more. Through narrowed, flaming hot eyes, he saw clumps of dirt encircle them, trapped in the turbulence. Then a spear, a helmet, a shield, a person. 

It felt like the instant before the breaking of a wave, and he was the wind against it, barely containing the swell. 

So he poured more in, his hands scorching, something vibrating worriedly violently inside his gut, the sunlight in the back of his eyes leaking back into his skull in the form of a headache. It was a strange sensation, consciously, continually using his white like this, tying it to his breath. His lungs began to ache.

He held, poured, held, poured, held. Released. 

Everything left Iwaizumi at once, blasting outwards from the ring of wind. He felt it rush out past his skin, leaving a sensation like a branding iron sunk into his very veins. Wavering forwards, he careened into someone's metal armour, blinking fast, bringing up his hands to clutch at his arms across his chest. There was still more. He could do more, and it scared him. 

There was screaming. Iwaizumi's eyes snapped over to the nearest soldier that had gotten caught in the crosswind. Dread drowned out his breathing, gulping down his lungs whole. They were dissolving. He hadn't been able to separate his Fracturing from his -

He dropped his hands, horror choking him up as he watched their skin disintegrate, flake off into ash, like a god was scratching through their form, peeling off bits to reveal the sticky redness underneath, churning past stringy pieces of flesh. Ash vanished in the last scraps of wind. 

It had taken less than a heartbeat, and everything had been branded in Iwaizumi's mind. He couldn't see the rest of the soldiers he'd Bricked away, the Form and Osole crowding and josoling around him, cramming together and running for the newly made pathway. He stumbled, glanced down, and realised that there was grey ash on his boots. 

Some noise left him, a half-gasp. He'd killed people before. He had dealt with the fact that sometimes it was a necessary evil long ago. But never like this. Never like someone being unstrung and unravelled in front of his eyes, shrieking with the full agony and knowledge of them dying. 

Somebody said something to him, a garbled mess of words Iwaizumi couldn't catch, could only stare at the space where a human had been. They wouldn't be able to identify their dead. He looked down at his hands, at the pinpoint droplets of blood rising from his skin, and knew there should be more. 

A hand grabbed his arm, and he then was being yanked forwards, with the flow of Osole breaking through the opening he'd made, their last effort towards freedom. His lips felt like they were breaking open, the dirt kicked up from heels spraying down his front as he was forced into a half-staggering sprint. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw black hair, and dully recognised Akaashi as the one hauling him along. 

Turning to him, Iwaizumi numbly watched Akaashi's lips move, hearing nothing but the echo of the last person he'd hurt. 

A palm hit his cheek - hard, and Iwaizumi blinked, the pain grounding him. 

"- here? Okay?"

"Huh?" Iwaizumi murmured out, and Akaashi hissed through his teeth, fingers sinking hot into Iwaizumi's arm. 

"Draw your sword, Hajime. We're not clear yet, and they're going to come after us."

"I… I don't think….. I want to," Iwaizumi struggled out, and Akaashi turned to him, the green of his eyes vibrant against the dirt on his face. 

"If you don't, you will die. I don't want to lose another person today, Hajime. Draw your sword and finish what you started." 

Iwaizumi felt his mouth warble, his fingers swaying by his side, just brushing past the smooth metal of his sheathed blade. He should fight. His mouth ran dry. He should fight. 

A sob broke past his lips, one that seemed to be born from his very soul. 

"I can't. I can't fight anymore, Keiji, I just -"

"I understand that you're going through something right now," Akaashi shot back, breathless as they forged onwards, his dagger skittering past a shield. It echoed with a horrible shearing shriek. "But as it is - you fight or you die. Do you want to die here, Hajime?"

Iwaizumi thought of Tooru's skin under his fingers. His lips against his. 

"No."

Reaching over, Akaashi grasped the hilt of Iwaizumi's sword, and pressed it into his palm. Iwaizumi hated how comforting the weight felt. 

"Then fight." 

Oikawa heard Futakuchi's captains yelling orders over the din and the cries. He combed over the tangled bodies, all crushed backwards on top of each other in a wobbly circle, and saw blood and ash rising into the air. His Breath banged back and forth in his lungs, threatening to spill free, but he held it in, quietly concentrating, battling down the panic coming with the realisation that Hajime still didn't have full control over his powers. The alternative was that he had intended to murder. Oikawa didn't allow himself to think about that. 

Zeroing in on one commander who seemed to be of high enough rank to give commands, he breathed out a long sigh and pressed forwards. He was going to get hell for this later. Riding up towards the man, he leaned over, tapping him on his metallic shoulder. 

Distracted, the man upturned his face, frowning up at him. "What do you want?"

"Futakuchi-sama orders you to retreat," Oikawa said, sure and clipped. 

The commander's eyes narrowed as he scanned down over Oikawa's Aecus clothing. "Aren't you only a diplomat? You're not with us, that much's for sure."

"I am a diplomat," Oikawa answered smoothly. "In fact, I believe it's my job to relay information between people."

The commander waved a hand, and Oikawa noted the deep scar across the back, as if a section of his skin had been sheared off. "If Futakuchi wanted to send orders, he should've sent one of the other captains. Leave."

"Strangely enough," Oikawa began. "They have slightly more pressing matters to worry about."

He glanced up, looking at the scene ahead of them. His breath stopped halfway up his throat. Hajime was… terrifying. Part of him felt sympathy. The other felt a deep, scathing horror. 

"Do you really expect them to be wasting their time relaying messages?" Oikawa snorted. "This should be below me as well."

“Piss off and let me do my job.” 

Oikawa ignored him, mildly gesturing to the scene ahead of them. 

"It doesn't seem like you're faring too well, does it?"

The commander's scowl deepened, the creases of his face becoming valleys. "He'll tire himself out eventually. I've seen it before - no matter how big his white is, he'll push himself too far."

"And how many men will you lose in the meantime, while you're waiting for an unknowable length of time to pass for him to 'tire himself out'?" Oikawa inquired lightly. 

The commander grimaced. He threw an uneasy look back, and Oikawa's blood spiked. Even humans trained to be rock weren't immune to fear. And Oikawa had to admit, Iwaizumi with his blazing eyes and bloody hands more than helped with that. He could smell the ash in the air. 

"Don't tell me that those orders made sense," Oikawa continued, fashioning his tone into ice. 

"It doesn't matter if-"

"You can think for yourself, can't you?" Oikawa huffed out, beginning to turn his horse away. "Fine. If you don't believe me, I'll find someone else. Oh, and what's your name? I'm sure Futakuchi-sama would love to frame your hand and put it on his wall."

That gave the commander reason to pause. "It doesn't sound like something Futakuchi-sama would say."

"Isn't it weird that he isn't down here, fighting with you?" Oikawa asked, chancing that the runners didn't have time to explain what seemed like an irrelevant detail. He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the fleeing Osole. "He knows they're not worth his time or yours. Yes, he decided to scare them and break their morale a little more, but he's a good leader. You know this. He wouldn't pursue them further at the determinant of his own men. And since all of the runners were already gone, he sent me down here." Oikawa pivoted his head around. "Where's your counterpart?"

“Why did he change his mind so quickly?” He queried. “He’s a stubborn boy. He got his arm broken once in a fight because he refused to apologise.” 

“He's an adult now. He got over his anger,” Oikawa replied. “You know how fast his mood can change.” 

There was another burst of wind rippling over the field. Oikawa felt it sink its teeth into his hair, raking along his scalp in thin streams. A tiny, almost imperceptible amount of panic flashed through the commander's eyes. 

"And," Oikawa added, leading his gaze over to Hajime. "He had given those orders before he saw him."

Cheeks blowing out, the commander visibly relented, exhaling through pursed lips.

"Fine." 

Oikawa looked down at him, humming. "Oh? It's good to see Futakuchi has trained his soldiers enough to take orders."

He watched as he talked to others, praying that his convincing had actually worked, that he had read him right. He didn't recall being this nervous about the outcome of a debate of his words since the five-hour haggling session with the infuriating Northern diplomat. His horse started moving backwards, and Oikawa barely noticed, too focused on what was unfolding in front of him. The wound on his eyebrow ached.

And as he watched, he uncurled his fingers from the reins slightly, the white marks of the leather strap engrained onto his skin slowly turning to red. 

Iwaizumi didn’t recall much. 

It was almost the same as when he had escaped with the heir -although he could channel and direct his power now, it was leaking out more, no longer repressed. He only knew a blaze of heat every so often, his body sinking back down into the automatic adrenaline of battle, the movements for survival and nothing more. 

They had broken through, but were still being pursued. It was difficult to make progress when soldiers were hacking at your backs, and Iwaizumi found himself slowly backing up, warding off attackers as allies dropped around him. The Brickers on the outskirts pressed forwards, breaking through their shields far too often. He wouldn't let them die. He couldn't. Dimly, he was aware of Bricks rippling out through his palms, unable to get past his white-resistant armour, and sometimes, his Fracturing seeped into it. Sometimes, only the armour dissolved. Sometimes it hit their bare, vulnerable skin. Sometimes, like ink through water, what hit them was diluted Fracturing, and that was worst of all. It wasn't enough to dissolve them completely to ash.

Sometimes Iwaizumi looked away, cries piercing through his skull. Sometimes he didn't, and he felt numbness overtaking him, engulfing one piece of his chest at a time. 

This was who he was, with dust pasted to dry lips.

He didn't expect the ripple of shouted commands across the front line of Futakuchi's soldiers, of the way they disengaged from them, how they drew back with fear in their trembling weapons. Standing, he blinked - once, twice, making sure he was seeing what he thought he was. Around him, the Form was slowly lowering their tattered, beaten shields, surveying the situation. 

His hand, shreds of his glove still clinging on around his wrist, dropped. It clenched around his shaking thigh. He heard a footstep beside him and then Akaashi's voice echoed around him, hollow with disbelief. 

"They're… retreating?" 

Iwaizumi collapsed into his knees, breathing haggardly. He didn't know what to say. He didn't think he could say anything. 

In the next trok, Akaashi had sunk to his knees in front of him, hugging him hard, his breath ragged against the shell of Iwaizumi's ear. "I had accepted death, but… thank you."

“Yeah… I…” 

Iwaizumi couldn't say any more, every bit of him to his tongue utterly drained. He closed his arms around Akaashi's back, and wasn't sure if it was him or Akaashi trembling. It might've been both. The relief didn't last long. He realised that his wet palms were sticking to something dry and crumbling on Akaashi's back - his shirt was covered in ash, his leather armour gone. Iwaizumi took his hands off of Akaashi's shoulderblades, the dread encompassing his limbs, overshadowing the relief of being alive. It mightn't have been him. Futakuchi had Fracturers on his side after all, it couldn't have been him -

He felt someone tug him to his feet. His knees were sodden with mud, coldness closing in finally. Akaashi made it to his feet beside him, swaying a little. 

"Come on," Atsumu urged, and he took Akaashi's arm, giving them another yank forwards. "You wanna give them time to change their minds? We gotta get moving. It could be a fake out, get us to relax our guards." 

Iwaizumi glanced back, and realised that the soldiers were wading back through piles of grey, feathery ash. 

_ Oh, Hajime,  _ Oikawa's voice whispered.  _ What have you done? _

"Don't look back." Akaashi's hand pressed hard against his shoulder, and Iwaizumi could feel him trying to soothe his emotions, gather them into something smooth and even. It didn't work. 

He stared behind him until Akaashi gripped his chin and forced his head around. 

"Don't look back," Akaashi repeated. 

"What did you do?"

Oikawa flashed Futakuchi a wide grin as he trotted up to them. "I saved a lot of your men's lives. You're welcome."

Consciously relaxing his shoulders, he maintained his breezy tone as Futakuchi approached him, his eyes overshadowed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kae shake her head, and braced himself. Still, he attempted to brush past. 

"Oi, asshole," Futakuchi called him, and Oikawa, letting out a slow hiss of breath, rotated towards him. 

"What may I help you with?" He tilted his head, taking pleasure in the way Futakuchi's expression soured further. 

"Oh, stop with the bullshit. You're not under my command," Futakuchi began. "I don't expect you to follow my orders. But to interfere  _ directly  _ like that -"

"That man down there massacred fifty people when he was thirteen," Oikawa told him, staring flatly. "You were putting your soldiers at the mercy of that kind of power for what? Your mountainous ego?"

"It was to break them, you idiot," Futakuchi gritted back. "Now that there are survivors they'll become a problem later on. I'm right about this, and you know it." 

He squinted, and Oikawa fought the urge to lean back, hardening his face against the feeling of being searched. Carefully, he lifted his chin, steadily holding Futakuchi's stare. It felt as sharp as his shield edges. Oikawa figured that it probably worked on lesser men.

"Psh, whatever," Futakuchi wheeled his horse away from him. "Whether you have another agenda or not, it doesn't matter. Don't get in my way again."

“He won’t,” Kae stated. 

Oikawa saw his eyes wander beyond him, and turned his head to see Kae, Kita still slung motionless over the neck of her mount.

"This is your most trusted advisor?" Futakuchi questioned, a little smirk curling up the edges of his mouth. "He's a little undertrained, ain't he?"

Kae's mouth downturned.

Oikawa wanted to throttle him. 

Lifting a hand in the air, Futakuchi spun his wrist around, and his commanders fell neatly into line behind him. Oikawa was left astride Yahaba, Kae and the magickers at the rear. Swallowing, he saw Yahaba toss a concerned glance over to him. He directed his gaze ahead. He wasn't sure how much of that exchange Yahaba had realised was important, but something had fractured and Oikawa's mind kept turning over, churning for a way to fix it. 

Kae rode closer to him, pushing up so his toe was almost knocking off of her heel. "Don't expect me to bail you out any more."

"I never asked -"

"You are representing Aecus," Kae said. "I healed Futakuchi, which helped smooth things over with him, but do not act so freely. Everything goes through me first."

She waited, the quiet jangling of the stirrups and equipment filling the air. Her words had dropped the grey clouds a little lower. Oikawa could feel their dampness skimming the back of his neck, moisture running into a cold droplet. 

His exhale billowed out slow, falling onto his mount's mane. "Understood."

As she moved back, he resisted the urge to cast a last glance back, seek out the flash of Yaku's armour, but he couldn't risk it. Logically, he knew at this distance everything would meld together, individual forms almost impossible to recognise, but that didn't stop him from wanting to anyway.

Oikawa felt Kae's gaze break like frost over the back of his neck. 

Iwaizumi’s hands were shaking. 

He glanced over his shoulder, back at Ushijima. How could he be so stoic? So comfortable within his own body? It seems that no matter what Ushijima chose, he was entirely sure of himself, certain of his actions, safe in his righteous strength. 

Iwaizumi wanted to rip his skin off, slip into new muscle that hadn’t tightened to drive a blade through organs, a new skin that didn’t know how the hot splatter of blood felt, a new brain that didn’t know a dozen ways to weaponise a rock. 

He wanted none of his hands, with the blood of decades drenched into the grooves. The aches digging into his wrist were almost a relief, a penance. Maybe he should shear them off, right where the weight of his sword had bent his hands downwards. 

He shook the thought from his head. That would be the easy way out. It would be an adequate punishment, but useless. It wouldn't help fix anything. It wouldn't help free trapped magickers. 

Backstepping, Iwaizumi scanned around him. The horses were back at the camp, far enough from the path to be hidden, not close enough to sneak away to without being noticed. His eyes swept over to Atsumu and Osamu coming up behind them, at Ushijima warily regarding him, at Akaashi beside him, bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. It had been a few minutes since the other side had retreated, with no indication of them changing their minds. He dared hope that they were in the clear. 

He met Ushijima's gaze for a moment, then leaned down to Akaashi. 

"Can you do me a favour?"

Akaashi dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, closing his eyes briefly. "Yes. What do you need?"

"I need you to cover for me while I get back to the horses," Iwaizumi said lowly. He rested a hand on Akaashi's back, feigning offering him help. "I'm pretty sure Ushijima is two troks away from knocking me out and hauling me back to the Form.”

"What am I supposed to say?" Akaashi whispered back, brushing his palms over his knees as if he could dislodge the dirt. "Maybe you should stick with us for now -"

"Iwaizumi."

Fuck.

Straightening, Iwaizumi gave Ushijima a smile he suspected probably was more of a grimace. It was not returned. He looked over at Akaashi. 

"Akaashi, why are you with him?"

Akaashi's eyebrows twitched downwards. "Why are you asking that?"

"He's a magicker, and a traitor."

It sounded so simple coming from Ushijima.

"He just protected us with his life!”

Ushijima only blinked back. “That doesn’t mean he’s an exception to the rules.”

“Perhaps the rules ought to be changed then-“ 

“Ushijima. Akaashi.”

Akaashi stiffened, nodding to someone behind Iwaizumi. Ushijima's greeting came next.

“Miya. Miya."

Iwaizumi turned to see the twins approaching, Osamu leaning hard on his brother's shoulder. Atsumu looked rough, his hair almost greyed out with the darkening sky and ash.

Now that Iwaizumi had more time to take him in, Osamu looked rougher, bruises flocking together on his face, bleeding over the crest of his brow, mouth battered. His armour was dented as if something very heavy had been set down upon his shoulders. Iwaizumi felt a little foul sense of pleasure arc through him. 

Their eyes met and Iwaizumi refused to be the first to look away. He gave him a grim, slow smile. The troks ticked by. Osamu looked almost apathetic, a short moment of his upper lip twinging the only sign of a reaction. 

"Should've known the instant he started protecting those skuts. We'll deal with him when we get back." 

"'Deal with me?'" Iwaizumi spat out. "I  _ killed  _ to get us out of there." 

"As did the rest of us," Ushijima said. "You were just able to do so to a bigger extent."

Iwaizumi felt a knot clench up in his chest, like rope twisting tight, entangling his ribs.

"That's putting it lightly," Atsumu muttered.

"You weren't complaining when I saved your ass," Iwaizumi snapped out, and Atsumu's glower darkened. "I didn't exactly have a choice, did I? It doesn't change the fact that you're a skut. You were in the king's castle, for fuck's sake. Did you let Aecus in? Were you the filthy traitor?" 

"I wasn't," Iwaizumi said, and Atsumu huffed out a breath. "Sure thing, liar."

"We'll find out anyways," Osamu said. He turned to Iwaizumi. "Don't think just because you're a senior member of the Form means you're escaping trial. Behave, and it'll be easier on all of us."

"Why bother with a trial? You kill magickers without caring if they're innocent or not," Iwaizumi answered, the memory of metal wrapped around hands constricting his throat. 

"Nah. Only the murderous ones," Atsumu said, a glint in his eyes as Iwaizumi tried to hold his tongue. 

Ignoring Atsumu, Osamu eyed Iwaizumi. "If you'd used your white before, you could've won the fight with me."

"And I'm sure your followers would've loved a skut like me leading them," Iwaizumi replied. Was he serious? 

"And you can't figure out a way to use it without being that obvious? I’ve fought -“

"Hey," Atsumu interjected, grabbing Osamu's arm. "There are people bleeding out. We've better things to be worrying about than him."

Osamu looked like he was suppressing a sigh, but he turned to Atsumu, heads bent together into a fast, low discussion. Half-scattered words drifted over to Iwaizumi, and he let out a breath, allowing his shoulders to droop under the delayed strain, the adrenaline of the battle leaking away. It left only a bone-crushing pressure on his limbs. Despite the exhaustion weighing in his head, he could guess what they were trying to decide - how to hold him, a hurricane starter. They hadn't intended to take any captives apart from Futakuchi, and definitely no magickers. Yaku wasn't here to craft white-resistant restraints, either. 

He pictured the layout of the area in his mind, balancing up his condition, the possibility of making it past if they tried to stop him. He felt completely drained, but did they know that?

"I'll cooperate," Iwaizumi said, and the twins' heads rotated towards him. "You don't have to worry about me trying to kill anyone. There's been more than enough bloodshed." 

Atsumu let out a short, brutal laugh. "Oh, of course we believe you. You've only lied about your very nature for - what? Twenty years? Yeah, we definitely trust what you say." 

As abruptly as the laugh had come, he lowered his face again, a shadowy hand spreading over it. "Don't bullshit us."

"I'm being honest," Iwaizumi said, and inclined his head towards Akaashi. "Ask him."

"Oh, one of your closest friends?" Atsumu huffed out, slapping a hand against his thigh. "That's good, Iwaizumi, really good. D'ya think we're stupid?"

"He's telling the truth."

Akaashi's voice was even. He was a much better liar than Iwaizumi was. 

It was Osamu who faced Akaashi, deadpan. "Your opinion doesn't count any more."

"I am still the co-leader of the Form," Akaashi declared. He lifted his whole stance, coming to just slightly shorter than Osamu, hardening the line of his shoulders. "I admit that I do have… close relations with magickers." 

His cold gaze travelled to Iwaizumi, a carving knife through the air. "But a traitor is still a traitor. How  _ dare  _ you accuse me of having a bias? I'm upset by this - I wouldn't be human if I wasn't - but I was chosen to be leader because of my ability to control my emotions and decide what was best -"

"Fucking hell, I get it," Osamu cut across him, placing a hand on his hip, but there was something new in the way he regarded Akaashi. "You don't have to monologue at me."

"So trust him, if not me," Iwaizumi told him. 

He was aware of Ushijima looking at Akaashi, and prayed for him to keep his mouth closed. 

Osamu still didn't look convinced, his blinks measured and half-lidded, sweeping from one Form member to another with unhurried consideration. The way his chest moved - slow, occasional fast jerks - told Iwaizumi that he wasn't in fighting form, either. His eyes rested on Iwaizumi. 

"I'm fighting you again."

Iwaizumi understood why he felt like stone was cascading into his lungs. A slice of fear.

"At your full power," Osamu said. "Our previous fight doesn't count anymore. You weren't using your full potential."

"What for?" Akaashi cut in, motioning with his hands over at Iwaizumi. "Hajime's going to be put on trial as a traitor, and you want him to fight for leadership of your group?"

"The leadership of the Osole isn't at stake," Osamu answered. "I'll beat him again. But there’s no dignity in defeating someone who’s holding back.” 

Atsumu dug his elbow into Osamu's side. "As much as I wanna see that, it can come later."

"Yer sounding like Kita," Osamu muttered back, but he blew out a breath. "Speaking of Kita. One last thing." 

Pushing himself free from Atsumu's support, Osamu walked over to Iwaizumi. He paused a foot away, and Iwaizumi watched as the purple by the corner of his eye saturated his skin.

"What are you doing -" Akaashi started, but Iwaizumi held up a hand. 

Iwaizumi took a breath, lifted his chin, and steeled himself. He would allow Osamu one. 

Osamu's fist struck wetter than he remembered, knuckles battering against his cheek as he felt the inside of his lip smash against his lower teeth, bone piercing through the skin, swelling and splitting open. As blood dripped down his chin, he glowered at Osamu, spitting out crimson. 

"His loss is your own fault."

Osamu's face flashed with rage, and he drew his fist back again. It hit Iwaizumi's palm as he narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't you have soldiers dying to take care of?"

"That's for standing by and infighting while one of our own was being taken." Osamu growled out. "You'll have a trial for your betrayal later." 

"Infighting? Like what you're wasting time on right now?"

A wet blob landed on Iwaizumi's boot, and he dug his fingers into his palms. He saw a blur and braced himself, hand flying upwards again - but only heard a thud, registered a slender hand dart in front of his face.

“Enough.” 

Akaashi’s voice was measured, his hand on Osamu’s forearm steady. 

“We will give him a fair trial when we return. This is needlessly cruel. Have you forgotten that he saved all of our lives?"

"Have you forgotten that he lied to you for years about who he truly is?"

"That doesn't change the fact that he protected us."

"I would've preferred to die with some dignity."

"There's still time for you to catch up with Futakuchi, if dying is what you wish," Akaashi replied steadily. 

Osamu ripped his arm away, surveying Akaashi slowly. "Watch yourself." 

"I am." 

Akaashi's face was beautifully neutral, holding Osamu's heated gaze with unwavering eyes. 

Atsumu bumped Osamu's shoulder. "C'mon. Leave it."

As they walked away, Atsumu shot a glance back at them, and Iwaizumi felt like he was looking at him as if he was covered in shit and dirt. Akaashi didn't look at Iwaizumi, hands clasped together at his neck, finger stroking down his throat. His eyelashes flickered back and forth, back and forth, too quickly. After a moment, he swallowed, and tucked away his hands behind his back. 

They were beginning to splinter. 

Akaashi turned to Iwaizumi, something hard set in his eyes. "Go. I'll cover for you. There should be waterskins and supplies near the caravans."

"I thought you said-"

"I was wrong," Akaashi interrupted, resting a hand on his arm and pushing. "Just go. I'll tell them that you're searching for survivors on the field or something. If they don't trust me - which I suspect they won't - I can at least delay them."

Iwaizumi dipped his head in a nod. "Thank you - I owe you, big time."

Offering him a tiny, drained smile, no more than a slight raise of his mouth, Akaashi exhaled hard, not quite able to meet Iwaizumi's eyes, instead lingering on his cheek. It was beginning to throb, no doubt swelling a little. "Don't worry about it. Just save some more lives."

Touching his cheek, Iwaizumi gazed at his former family tending to the others, and wondered how their compassion could extend so little. 

"I'll see you back home, Keiji."

Iwaizumi stumbled often making his way back. 

Every step, he expected yells to come after him, for them to chase and hunt him down, for the remainder of Futakuchi's forces to spot him, archers to shoot him. That wasn't the worst part. The way the wind blew over fragments of ash was. He could handle blood. He knew, at the very least, with those he killed, their friends would bury them, or give them a proper send off. The thought of someone - a dear friend, Keiji, Morisuke, even Atsumu - vanishing in battle and having nothing of them left - tore at his edges. 

Focus. 

He had to focus. Mastukawa and Hanamaki were the priority. He couldn't do anything about his past actions. He couldn't do anything. Not even justify them. 

His one relief that in order to reach the camp, he was able to skirt around the battlefield, avoid the sights of the aftermath. They had set their camp up somewhere hidden, after all, not visible to the path Futakuchi had been taking. Still, he discovered that 'out of sight, out of mind,' was a bullshit saying. 

His legs shook, a dry heaviness clasping his tongue. He thought, and his thoughts didn't settle well with him. Oikawa's words burned. 

_ Tell me that it’s not because you’ve become a coward.  _

Iwaizumi thought that it was the only time he hadn't been a coward. He hadn't been a coward, and how many had he killed? He exhaled, wishing it would rain, anything to wash the filth from his sweat-soaked skin. His body felt like he’d ran through mud for hours, muscles seizing up at random, his limbs made of stone as he made his way up an incline. The sight of brown tent material, the horses tied to a post outside, sent a tiny spurt of energy through him, and he slogged onwards.

Futakuchi had tried to massacre them after they were beaten. Even if he did grant magickers their rights, Iwaizumi felt uneasy at the prospect of allowing someone like that to rule his country. 

And Kae and Oikawa… they were with him. Had they known about his attempt to wipe them out? No. No, Oikawa wouldn't have left him to die. He couldn't have known. Iwaizumi inhaled, and shocked himself at the harsh, raspy noise his chest spat out. The air was growing colder, the wetness of his shirt becoming freezing.

He almost wished for nothing more than to sleep, but he doubted that his restless mind would let him. And… he didn’t want to think about what dreams would come to him if he slept. He had to keep moving. 

Iwaizumi's fingers sought out the brooch, deep in his pocket, and he clasped it in his palm, bringing it up to his face. Pressing his mouth against it, he drew comfort from the warm metal. His lips left an outline of mud and ash on the delicate engravings, pressed deep into the ridgings around the precious stones. 

He took Osamu's horse. Fuck that guy. 

His warm palm on the horse's neck seemed to be enough to soothe them into allowing him to tack them up, without much of a fuss being caused. He reckoned that Osamu would like a horse like this, even-tempered and obedient. Too bad it didn't work in his favour this time. 

"Thank you," Iwaizumi murmured to the animal as he swung himself up into the saddle, hesitantly leading it out of the camp. 

He winced with every soft clop of the hooves against rock, his gaze streaming as far as he could see - despite the looming night, he didn't dare take an oil lamp. The dying sun would have to do, despite the last empty rays feeling icy on the back of his neck, the clouds passing over it often. The unease of the horse bled into the underside of Iwaizumi's legs, feeling them tremble and twitch, and he leaned over, rubbing their neck, whispering softly to them as their ear swivelled back and forth. 

"It's alright, we'll be fine. I know the way. You won't stumble, we'll take our time."

He meant it. As much as it grated on his impatience, having the horse injure themselves on the shitty roads would only slow him down further, if not utterly cripple his plans altogether. He had already shed his armour and swapped it out for a cloak. It wouldn't save him completely from the weather, but he wouldn't be weighed down, and he could ride faster. 

His thoughts diverted to Makki and Mattsun. 

He wasn't sure if their escape plan had gone well or not. If it had, there was no reason for him to go back, but he had to know. He had to know. If it hadn't, Matsukawa and Hanamaki would die as soon as Osamu returned. And in that case, there might be too many people for Iwaizumi to fight through. He didn't doubt that Akaashi would help him - but even with the depleted Osole numbers, two men alone couldn't take them on. 

But he had decided. He wasn’t fighting for this cause anymore. He’d already spent too long being blind, complacent to a familiar, stable system. 

And yet, while Iwaizumi was riding, a pain scorched through his forearms. Yanking up his sleeve, he saw the outline of Hanamaki’s hand, and dread shot through him. Had he made his decision too late? 

Seeing the dusk glow on the horizon, he spurred his horse on faster. 

Somewhere not so far away, Oikawa couldn't keep down the vile roiling in his stomach. 

And under the eyes of Kae, of Futakuchi and his captains, of Bokuto and Yahaba, he swung his legs off of the horse, landed, doubled over, and vomited up nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all have a good iwaoi day, thank you for reading <3  
> and I am so sorry but it's gotten to the stage where I cannot reply to every comment, but know that I squeal over each one!! you are all so kind, seriously thank you <3


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